Bound
by Calliopiea
Summary: Harry Potter finds out that he's been bound to someone for life . . . (Harry Potter/ Tom Riddle Slash)
1. The Binding Spell

Bound  
  
By Alicia Flint  
  
(Harry/ Tom Riddle Slash)  
  
Disclaimer: Alas, they are not mine . . .  
  
Chapter One - The Binding Spell  
  
1943  
  
It was the summer holidays and Hogwarts was almost completely abandoned -- except for one boy around sixteen years of age. He sat in a high-backed wooden chair in the Great Hall, absent-mindedly practicing his levitation on some schoolbooks. "The Standard Book of Spells" was five feet off the table when the boy heard the door slam. He looked in the direction of noise, his eye contact was broken, and the book fell back onto the table -- hard.  
  
"Well Tom, I see that you have chosen to spend your summer wisely," Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration, said softly.  
  
"Oh," Tom said, disappointedly. "Professor Dumbledore. I expected you to go home for the vacation."  
  
"I consider Hogwarts to be my home," Dumbledore smiled. "Besides, I had to stay here and keep an eye on you then, didn't I?"  
  
Tom was not amused in the least.  
  
"It will do you well to work over the summer, seeing as you are so extraordinarily gifted. Levitation is a bit, well, basic for someone of your level though, is it not?" Dumbledore said and Tom immediately blushed vibrantly.  
  
"I was just practicing. Just filling some of my time . . ."  
  
"Would you care to try something a bit more challenging?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"I'll think about it," Tom said cautiously. He knew better than to agree to something when he had no idea what it was.  
  
"There's a book in the Restricted Section of the library called 'Bound' -- It's about the little-known binding spells. You have my full permission to take the book to your rooms and read it. I, myself, have never been able to perform one. I don't possess that sort of power but you . . . I don't know about you, Tom. You might just be able to . . . Well, take a look at the book and see if you're interested. Just consider it -- For the challenge."  
  
Tom bid farewell to Professor Dumbledore and leaned back in his chair, pretending to return to his levitation. Really, he intended to head to the library and read "Bound" the moment Dumbledore left the room.  
  
Dumbledore smiled to himself as he left the room. Tom had hooked onto the idea of a binding spell since the moment Dumbledore said that he had never been able to perform one. It was the whole concept of power for Tom. Tom wanted to prove that he was more powerful -- that he was superior -- to Dumbledore. He wanted to prove that he could accomplish everything that Dumbledore had failed at.  
  
A binding spell was a challenge but Dumbledore didn't doubt that Tom would be able to figure it out.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tom Riddle quickly entered the library, heading straight to the Restricted Section. He scanned through the books until he found the title in question -- "Bound." It was an old burgundy-colored book with gold trimming. Tom opened it and began reading the text:  
  
"The act of binding -- of tying another person to you for life -- has been replicated in many Muggle ceremonies, for example, the Muggle sacrament of marriage. The only true binding mechanism is a binding spell. A binding spell will seek out the one person in the universe who is complementary to the spell caster and bind those two people together through life. When both of the subjects reach sixteen years of age, they will be forever bound ceremonially and will not part from each other until the day of their death. The phrase "bound for life" is not to be taken lightly. When one dies, the other shall also perish. It is a truly powerful spell that binds two people together in this fashion.  
  
Binding spells have been judged as the most complex of all spells."  
  
Tom had been captured at the phrase "the most complex of all spells" and knew that, no matter what the result, he had to attempt to cast one of these binding spells over the summer vacation.  
  
He would begin preparing tomorrow.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore was about ready to begin reading the latest Transfiguration Thesis when he heard a hesitant knock at his door. "Ah, Tom Riddle!" he thought to himself. "It's about time you came to my door."  
  
"Come in," he said cheerfully. Tom opened the door slowly. "My dear boy," Dumbledore said, genuinely happy to see Tom, "Come in and have a seat! I thought for a moment that you wouldn't be coming down here. Have you read the book?"  
  
Tom took a seat opposite Dumbledore. "Yes, Professor. I've read the book and I feel ready to accept the challenge. I'm looking forward to casting a binding spell over the summer."  
  
"Splendid!" Dumbledore said but then he hesitated momentarily.  
  
Dumbledore knew that binding spells had major disadvantages -- the life's partner could be a burden as well as a blessing. As a sixteen-year- old boy, Dumbledore knew that Tom wasn't ready to take on the emotional responsibilities of casting a binding spell but . . . It was such a wonderful way to keep someone like Tom Riddle under control. By having a life's partner to check his actions, Tom would be less likely to overstep his boundaries and less likely to get himself into trouble. Dumbledore was only thinking of Tom's own good . . . Actually, Dumbledore was only thinking of the good of the entire wizarding world. Tom Riddle was a talented boy but his heart was, unfortunately, in the wrong place.  
  
But something still made Dumbledore feel guilty about coaxing Tom to do something that he'd probably later regret.  
  
"You have read the entire book?" Dumbledore questioned.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you feel ready to take on the physical and emotional toll that casting a spell of this magnitude might take on you?"  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
"Well," Dumbledore thought to himself, "At least, they can't say that I didn't warn him . . . Or at least told him to question his actions."  
  
"In that case, splendid!" Dumbledore said joyfully. "I will begin helping you train at once! For, of course, you will need assistance with your preparation. I believe you have an ambitious start to your summer and, as always, I wish you the best of luck, Tom Riddle."  
  
"I will succeed," Tom answered simply.  
  
And Dumbledore knew he was correct in that.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Days passed into weeks and weeks passed into months. Dumbledore had to admire the boy's convictions. Any normal sixteen-year-old boy would have given up preparing for a binding spell after the first five days but never Tom Riddle. He rigorously gathered herbs, practiced concocting potions, made sure his pronunciation of the incantations was flawless . . . The spell was going to be perfect.  
  
And Dumbledore helped with the process every chance he got. In a way, Tom thought Albus Dumbledore was too willing to help but he quickly waved that off with the thought that a teacher must always be willing to help his student.  
  
Finally, the day arrived and Tom Riddle was ready to cast the binding spell. He had requested the Professor Dumbledore stay in his office that night. The binding spell was something he had to do alone to achieve full concentration. Professor Dumbledore had avidly agreed.  
  
Now Tom stood poised over a pile of herbs, a caldron, a leaping flame, a goblet, and two rings.  
  
"Inter canem et lupum," he began softly, "Advocum animus. Inter canem et lupum, adstringum. Inter canem et lupum, adamum. Santificum amor."  
  
Tom carefully measured out one tablespoon of Artemisia Vulfaris (Better known as mugwort) into a caldron full of rosewater.  
  
"Amor animi," he whispered, stirring the potion three times counter- clockwise. It began to glow a charming pink hue.  
  
"Praebeo," Tom said, filling the goblet with the liquid. He braced himself for what would happen next. He didn't usually trust drinking the results of spell casting . . . One mistake could lead to sudden death. But he had been working so hard on this and he absolutely needed to prove himself . . .  
  
He sipped the liquid steadily and automatically he began to feel faint. He realized that he was going to pass out but he needed to finish the spell first. He tried to steady himself while he said the last incantation:  
  
"Duo . . . Uterlibet . . . Venustas . . . Adamus . . ."  
  
Tom Riddle slipped the golden band onto his finger and then felt himself slump to the floor.  
  
The rest was darkness.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tom Riddle woke up three days later in the hospital of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Albus Dumbledore sat by his side, finishing the latest Transfiguration Thesis. 


	2. The Sixteenth Year

Chapter Two - The Sixteenth Year  
  
1996  
  
Harry James Potter sat on the window seat in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was four o'clock in the morning and he was putting the finishing touches on his Potions essay, which was due in about five hours. As he quickly dashed off the concluding sentence he thought to himself, Potions down . . . Charms and Transfiguration to go.  
  
Harry had chosen to spend last night with Cho Chang instead of doing any of his homework. Now that his eyelids were drooping and his head was pounding, he wondered if it had been worth it.  
  
He smiled. It had definitely been worth it.  
  
Harry sensed someone behind him and quickly turned around. Hermione Granger stood behind him, hands on hips, looking at him like, "Harry Potter, you should know better . . ."  
  
"Finishing your Potions homework?"  
  
"Done with my Potions homework," Harry said proudly.  
  
"Good. You can go to bed then. You look absolutely exhausted, Harry."  
  
"Not quite," Harry sighed. "Still have Charms and Transfiguration homework to do."  
  
"Harry," Hermione scolded, "Did you do any of your homework last night?"  
  
"Er . . . no?"  
  
"Move over then. I'll give you a hand."  
  
Harry smiled his thanks and gave Hermione room to work. Two hours later, Charms and Transfiguration were done (And, thanks to Hermione, done well).  
  
"What were you doing last night, anyway?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Um . . . Spending time with friends?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Cho," Harry whispered. Hermione stood up rearranged her robes, trying her best to look authoritative.  
  
"Well, next time, don't let your love life get in the way of your work. I might just not be here to help you out." Hermione smiled and Harry knew that Hermione would definitely be there to help him out the next time. Hermione made her way back up to her bedroom, leaving Harry in the common room.  
  
The sun was just breaking the horizon and the sky was turning a brilliant crimson color, even though it was still glistening with stars. There was nothing like a Hogwarts sky on a summer morning. It was early June, only a couple more weeks and Harry would be off for summer vacation -- not exactly a blessed event. Not with the Dursleys, at least. It would also be Harry's birthday in about a month and a half. His sixteenth birthday. "Happy Sweet Sixteen," Harry smiled to himself.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Harry had been sprinkling some mugwort into his latest potion when Dumbledore had entered the room and called Professor Snape out momentarily. Snape and complied and the class had been left alone for a moment to work on their potions.  
  
"Wonder what that's all about," Ron Weasley whispered to Harry. "Dumbledore doesn't usually call teachers out of classes. Probably something urgent."  
  
"Don't tempt fate," Harry said simply, knowing better than to get excited by the prospect of "something urgent." What had Dumbledore called Snape out of the room for? Could Voldemort have made a sudden reappearance? That was all Harry needed right now. His final exams coming up and Voldemort's decided that now would be a great time to check up on his young nemesis. "That's always the way things go," Harry thought to himself. "When it rains, it pours."  
  
"You don't think it's about . . . You-Know-Who," Ron gasped, practically reading Harry's mind.  
  
"You never know," Harry said, grimacing as Snape walked back into the room, even paler than he had been before.  
  
"Mister Potter," Snape stammered, "Please come with me to Professor Dumbledore's Office."  
  
"Definitely a You-Know-Who alert," Ron said, smiling sympathetically as Harry got up from his seat. "Don't worry, Harry. It'll all work out."  
  
Harry put his hand on Ron's shoulder, showing his appreciation, and walked out of the room, followed by Professor Snape.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore was about ready to begin reading the latest Transfiguration Thesis when he heard a hesitant knock at his door. "Ah, Harry Potter," he thought to himself with a sort of melancholy. "It's about time you came to my door."  
  
"Come in," he said, trying to sound pleased. Harry opened the door slowly. "My dear boy," Dumbledore said, "Come in and have a seat. I need to have a word with you about a very urgent matter."  
  
Harry took a seat opposite Dumbledore. Professor Snape loomed in the doorway.  
  
"You are excused Severus," Dumbledore said, with a nod in Snape's direction. Snape quickly made himself scarce, not wanting to have anything more to do with this situation.  
  
"Harry, you have never heard of a binding spell, have you?" Dumbledore asked, gently prying around the subject.  
  
"Never."  
  
"A binding spell ties two people together for life. These two people are perfectly complementary to each other in every way, shape, and form. I suppose you could say they are soulmates. When both of these subjects reach sixteen years of age, they are bound together ceremonially and they spend all of their days together until the day of their death."  
  
"I've been bound to someone then, haven't I?" Harry said simply. He was smart enough to know that he had been summoned to Dumbledore's Office for some life-shattering reason. This had to be it. "I only have three questions to ask: Who have I been bound to? Is there any way I can get out of it -- Any counter-spells? And if they die, will I be free of them?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled at the boy's bluntness. Harry certainly didn't beat around the bush when dealing with matters of this magnitude.  
  
"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "You have been bound to someone. The question of whom you have been bound to will be revealed in time. I do not feel you will be able to handle the truth of that matter yet. I will tell you . . . but in time."  
  
"It's not something I'm going to be happy about then," Harry muttered then he suddenly sat bolt upright in his seat. "I haven't been bound to Draco Malfoy, have I?"  
  
"No," Dumbledore chuckled at the boy's sudden unease. "You haven't been bound to Draco Malfoy. Relax and don't worry. As I said before, you are bound to the one person in the universe that you are completely complimentary to. I don't see you as being complimentary at all to our young Mister Malfoy."  
  
"Thank goodness," Harry sighed.  
  
"In response to your second question, there is no way at all to escape from a binding spell. There is no counter-spell, there is no antidote. Once done, it is done and there is no retracting it. It's a sad fact of this spell."  
  
Harry nodded. How ideal. No way out.  
  
"In response to your third question, you will never be free of the individual to whom you are bound. When that individual dies, you will also die so that the two of you will never be separated upon this earth. It's a concept that would be romantic, if you were actually able to choose whom you were bound to."  
  
"Romantic?" Harry said with a sudden interest. "Binding is a romantic thing? So I'm going to be bound to a girl then?"  
  
"Binding is indeed a very romantic thing," Dumbledore responded solemnly. "It is the Wizard's equivalence to the Muggle ceremony of marriage. It is usually accompanied by wooing and, yes, eventually sexual relations."  
  
Harry squirmed about a little bit. As much as he needed to hear about this sort of thing, he didn't really need to hear about it from Professor Dumbledore.  
  
"But this doesn't necessarily mean you'll be bound to a girl," Dumbledore finished. Harry looked genuinely shocked at this.  
  
"But . . . I'm not gay," he whispered to Dumbledore. "How can I be bound romantically to a man if I'm not gay."  
  
"That will be seen in time," Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"What about my current relationship?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the avid night of passion he had spent with Cho Chang . . . or the semi-avid night of passion.  
  
"I'm afraid it must be terminated immediately," Dumbledore sighed. "When you are bound, you are bound exclusively. You must cease all relations with Miss Chang."  
  
"But I . . . Wait a moment, how did you know it was Cho?" Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore laughed. "You don't have to be a Wizard to notice you two making eyes at each other from across the Great Hall." He then suddenly became very serious. "I am only afraid that you will be extremely disappointed with the boy whom you have been bound to."  
  
"It is a boy then?" Harry gulped. Sexual relations . . . with another boy? He couldn't even imagine . . . Maybe they could strike a deal early on. Work together, live together, but not sleep together?  
  
"I will not lie to you about that, Harry. It is a boy you have been bound to. I am only afraid . . . I wish you were older. It might be easier to explain this all to you then."  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured.  
  
"No matter," Dumbledore smiled, suddenly light-hearted again. "Here. A box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in honor of this special day."  
  
Harry tried to smile at Dumbledore's kindness but he couldn't come out with more than a lop-sided smirk.  
  
"Don't worry my dear boy," Dumbledore said as Harry took the Every Flavor Beans and shoved them into one of his pockets. "Everything will work out in the end."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Harry entered the Great Hall and, before he could count to three, Ron and Hermione were both standing by his side, looking concerned but also excited. You never knew what was going to happen in Hogwarts -- It could be something amazing or something horrible but, whatever it was, it was always of the greatest significance.  
  
"So what was that all about?" Ron asked.  
  
"Nothing," Harry lied. "Well, nothing having to do with Voldemort."  
  
"Well that's good," Hermione smiled. "So . . . Was it something about you? What did Dumbledore have to say?"  
  
"Come on Harry," Ron begged. "The suspense is killing us!"  
  
"It's personal," Harry said. "I don't really want to talk about it right now." 


	3. Cho Chang

Author's Note: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews! Hope you all enjoy Chapter Three (Sorry it's so short)!  
  
Chapter Three - Cho Chang  
  
Harry Potter sighed and paced his room, trying to think up something to say to Cho. How could he explain that he had to cease all relations with her . . . because he was bound for life to someone else? Because he was bound to life with another boy? Well, he could always conveniently leave that part out . . . No one had to know about that.  
  
"Cho," he began, thinking out his words. "Cho, I've been thinking very hard about our relationship and I think that we shouldn't see each other anymore . . ." No, that sounded like he wanted to break up with her. God, how could he make her understand that it wasn't her fault? That she hadn't done anything wrong? That he might be in love with her . . . maybe?  
  
"Cho," he began again. "Dumbledore called me into his office today and told me that I've been bound . . ." But then that would require a detailed explanation of the binding spell and the rules and regulations and the ceremonies and traditions. What was supposed to be a dismissal would turn into a thirty-minute long discussion. This was something he wanted to get over and done with as quickly as possible.  
  
There was a knock on his door and Harry swallowed deeply. This was it then. The moment of truth.  
  
"Come in," Harry stammered.  
  
"Hey," Cho said, bursting into the room like a beam of sunshine. Harry almost smacked his head against the stone wall. She was so beautiful and so energetic and so playful . . . She just made him feel good. Wasn't he at least deserving of that? And now he had to call it off. To tell her that he just couldn't go out with her any longer.  
  
"Cho, I'm sorry. This isn't about you, it's about me," he quickly blurted out. "It has to do with destiny and charms and just a whole lot of stuff that I really don't want to explain to you right now."  
  
"What are you talking about Harry?" Cho asked, completely and utterly confused.  
  
"I'm saying that we can't see each other anymore."  
  
"Oh," Cho said quietly, sitting down on the side of the bed. "Is it something . . . Is it something you can't control Harry? Or do you want to break up with me?"  
  
"Cho," Harry said, slumping down next to her. "It's something that's completely out of my control. I love you, you know I do. I just can't go out with you anymore. You'll always have a place in my heart. I want you to know that. God, Cho, I love you . . ."  
  
He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the tears gently off of her cheeks. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close to him in an embrace. He rubbed her back comfortingly. Her chest was heaving with sobs. This was all she needed. To lose another love . . .  
  
"Cho, Cho, my Cho . . ." he whispered softly in her ear.  
  
God, why did it have to be like this?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------  
  
It had been an hour since Cho Chang had left -- left for good -- and Harry was lying on his bed. His sheets were cold and damp from his tears but he was too depressed to move. So he just lay there, salt caked onto his cheeks. He heard a knock on the door.  
  
"Who is it?" he said, weakly.  
  
"Hermione," a voice softly replied.  
  
"Come in," Harry sniffed as Hermione opened the door slowly.  
  
"I heard about what happened. I just wanted to see how you were doing."  
  
"Who told you?"  
  
"Cho. She came to my room soon after she left yours. She told me . . . She told me that you broke up with her. She said that it was over something you couldn't control. Did Dumbledore tell you to break up with Cho?"  
  
"Why do you think Dumbledore would tell me to do something like that?" Harry asked, suddenly bitter.  
  
"I just thought that this might have something to do with Dumbledore summoning you into his office this morning."  
  
Harry sighed. Would it be better just to get everything out and into the open? Should he tell Hermione about the binding spell or would it be smarter just to keep everything to himself -- At least, keep everything to himself until he knew more information.  
  
Tell her now.  
  
"Okay, fine. I'll tell you what happened," Harry sighed. "You're going to find out eventually so I might as well tell you now. But first I have to be assured that you can keep a secret."  
  
"Definitely Harry," Hermione confirmed and Harry knew that he could count on her.  
  
"Okay, do you know what a binding spell is?"  
  
Hermione's eyes grew wide with anticipation. "I've read all about binding spells! Supposedly binding spells seek out two people who are soulmates and it binds them together for life. Isn't that right?"  
  
"Yes. According to Dumbledore, someone cast a binding spell and now . . . well, I'm bound."  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped open. Harry Potter? Bound?  
  
"You're . . . bound? For life? To whom?"  
  
"Dumbledore wouldn't tell me but I have a feeling that I'm not going to be too happy with the match."  
  
"Nonsense," Hermione scoffed. "Binding spells pair you with someone who . . . well, it binds you with your soulmate! How can you not be happy with your soulmate?"  
  
"Easily," Harry grumbled. "Dumbledore told me my soulmate was another boy."  
  
"A . . . what?!" Hermione exclaimed. "You've been bound . . . to another boy? But Harry, you're not gay!"  
  
"I know!" Harry exclaimed. "I tried telling Dumbledore that but he wouldn't hear a word of it. It just said 'That will be seen in time.'"  
  
"This is absolutely unbelievable," Hermione said. "Harry Potter's been bound . . . You are aware that being bound to a person usually means that you have to sleep with them right?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, exasperated. "I am very aware of that."  
  
"Just making sure," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "Well, you can either sit around here brooding all day or you can come downstairs to dinner."  
  
"I think I'd prefer dinner," Harry said. "I'd prefer anything to being left alone in this room with my own thoughts. Hermione . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You won't tell anyone about my being bound, will you?"  
  
"Harry," she smiled. "Friends trust each other."  
  
"Right," he grinned. "Let's go down to dinner then."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------------------  
  
Dinner could not have been any worse. The tension between Cho and Harry was practically palpable even though they were sitting at their two separate tables. Harry began to rethink his statement "I'd prefer anything to being left alone in this room with my own thoughts." It was halfway through dinner when Dumbledore stood up and raised his chalice in a toast:  
  
"To the unexpected," he said, "And to all the wonderful things it can bring to us. May we reap the fruits of our destinies and may we make the best of whatever situation comes upon us. May we remember to be merciful. May we remember to show forgiveness. May we remember to look inside our preconceived notions to see the purpose of the plan that has been laid out for us. May we remember that things are not always as bad as they seem."  
  
Dumbledore raised his glass to Harry and smiled.  
  
Cho Chang ran out of the Great Hall in tears.  
  
Harry felt like his life was ending. 


	4. The Identity Revealed

Chapter Four - The Identity Revealed  
  
A few weeks had passed since that fateful afternoon with Cho Chang and Harry was beginning to feel a bit better about the entire situation. He had almost forgotten the imminent binding ceremony completely. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't happening now. Harry was beginning to live his life only one day at a time -- Not thinking about the past and not thinking about the future. He and Cho had continued on being good friends and it didn't hurt so much to see her or talk to her now.  
  
Harry Potter was moving on with his life.  
  
Then, one day, a message was sent down to the Gryffindor Common Room.  
  
Neville Longbottom brought the letter over to Harry, who was perched in his traditional window seat, scribbling out the ingredients list to a new potion he was working on.  
  
"Harry," Neville said quietly, not wanting to disturb Harry from his work. "You've got a message here from Professor Dumbledore. I think it's urgent."  
  
Harry took in a deep breath and arched his back. This was it then. Some news about that binding ceremony that he had just begun to forget about. Neville handed Harry the letter and quickly excused himself up to his dorm room. Harry opened the envelope and read the contained letter:  
  
Harry --  
  
You've been dealing well with the circumstances and I think that you might now be ready to handle the identity of the one you are bound to. You may come to my office anytime today and I will willingly tell you the name of the boy to whom you are bound.  
  
Thank you for handling this situation so well.  
  
-- Professor Dumbledore  
  
  
  
Harry got up from the window seat and shoved the letter into his pocket. He quickly left the common room and began to make his way to Professor Dumbledore's Office. He wanted to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. He couldn't avoid learning the name of his . . . soulmate. It would torment him throughout the day. Best to get it over and done with as soon as possible.  
  
Almost too soon, he found himself standing in front of the door to Professor Dumbledore's Office.  
  
"Come in," Dumbledore said before Harry had even knocked. Harry opened the door and entered the room. He suddenly felt like he was all alone -- all alone in the dark, dank office. It was a feeling that made him unspeakably uncomfortable.  
  
"You have come to find out the identity of your intended, I suppose," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded. He didn't like the word Dumbledore had used: "Intended." He made it sound like they were engaged or something. They definitely weren't engaged -- They were just . . . bound.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore continued. "I know how devastating this is going to be for you but I ask you to please not pass judgement on your soulmate until you two have become more intimately acquainted. I . . . Well, best not waste time with warnings and reprimands then."  
  
"Yes Professor," Harry agreed. Was his fate that horrible that Professor Dumbledore couldn't speak it out loud? Was the name that accursed that it could not be said?  
  
"I find that saying his name is hard for me," Dumbledore sighed after a long moment of silence. "I will instead tell you a bit about him. Have patience with me please. This boy was . . . one of the prize students of Hogwarts. He was brilliant, ambitious, charming . . . He was sixteen when he cast the binding spell. I lured him into it hoping that, by binding him to another individual, I would keep his powers in check. I didn't want him to do anything that he might regret one day. Unfortunately, I believe it's a little late for that . . . Who knows though? You might do some good for the boy yet."  
  
Harry didn't like where this was going. He still had no idea of the identity of his soulmate but he knew that he wasn't going to like it when he found out. Who could it be? It had to be someone he knew. Someone he knew and didn't like.  
  
"He was the pet of all the teachers. In many ways, he was the perfect student. I do hope you'll do him some good, Harry . . . But you'll want a name now, won't you? Fine. I will say it out loud . . ." Dumbledore took a deep breath. Harry braced himself.  
  
"His name is Tom Riddle."  
  
The shock didn't hit Harry very hard at first. He looked at Dumbledore with a confused, bewildered look as if he hadn't heard the name right.  
  
"Tom Riddle?" he asked. "As in the Tom Riddle who is now Lord Voldemort?"  
  
"Yes, Harry. The same."  
  
Harry sat perfectly still for a few moments. And then when he finally made to say something, it was only:  
  
"May I have a glass of water please? I'm feeling a bit thirsty."  
  
Dumbledore quickly poured the boy a glass of water. He had been expecting a bit more of a reaction but then he realized that it would probably not sink in for a while longer. Maybe Harry would try to forget the information completely. Dumbledore just hoped that he could handle this fact once he got it through his system.  
  
"Tom Riddle," Harry murmured again. "But how is that possible? Voldemort . . . I mean, Tom Riddle must be about . . . what? Sixty-nine? I'm fifteen-years-old."  
  
"Are you speaking in terms of aesthetics?" Dumbledore asked, realizing that the appearance of a lover would greatly influence the situation, especially in the case of a teenage boy driven solely by hormones. "I realize that, when you have seen Lord Voldemort, he has not been a particularly attractive individual. That can be changed."  
  
Dumbledore made it top priority to try and bring Tom Riddle's dashing good looks back.  
  
"Attractive . . . This is really happening then, isn't it?" Harry said, as he began to come to grips with the facts of the matter. "I'm really bound to Lord Voldemort for life then, aren't I? I'm going to have to live out the rest of my days with the most powerful Dark Lord the world has ever known. And I'm probably going to be forced to . . ." Harry choked on the last few words he was going to say. "I'm probably going to be forced to sleep with him," he thought to himself. "I'm going to be forced to love him."  
  
"You're saying words, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "You're saying words. You don't realize the magnitude of the situation yet. What is going to happen to you . . . with Tom . . . It is going to have some good things associated with it and some bad. I have a feeling though that the good will far outshine the bad."  
  
"Is he going to live here at Hogwarts then?" Harry asked, still remaining levelheaded, but Dumbledore could see that the boy was quickly breaking down.  
  
"He'll live here while you finish off your education. The two of you will then decide where you shall both go."  
  
"But we have to go together . . ."  
  
"Yes. You will have to go together."  
  
"I guess this means I can't try killing Lord Voldemort again," Harry said, smiling at the bitter irony of it.  
  
"Not unless you intend to kill yourself, no."  
  
Harry took another sip of water and his smile quickly dissolved.  
  
"He killed my parents," Harry said, rising to his feet. Dumbledore could see the emotional breakdown looming overhead. "He killed my parents and now . . . I'm going to have to give everything to him, aren't I? My life, my heart, my soul, my body . . . I'm going to have to give everything to him. Where's the justice in that?" Harry was beginning to sob. "He's evil, Professor Dumbledore. He's pure evil. How I can be complementary to someone like that? He has no feelings -- no emotions. How can I live out the rest of my life with . . . How can I give up any chance I ever had for a happy relationship like that? How can I sacrifice everything . . ." Harry was beginning to shake and his words were getting strangled in his throat. Tears snaked down his cheek leaving shiny salt trails in their wake. "I hate him!" Harry screamed and collapsed onto the ground. Dumbledore was at once by his side, holding the child to him, whispering gently and comfortingly.  
  
The poor child.  
  
"Tom is . . . Tom could . . . You two could be happy together," Dumbledore said softly trying to comfort the bawling child. "Give it a chance. You two could be happy together. You were bound for a reason, you must remember that."  
  
"He'll try to kill me!" Harry screamed desperately, his voice hoarse yet shrill. "He'll try to kill me! I swear! You can't let him near me! Please, please don't let him near me!" And the child went limp once again in Dumbledore's arms.  
  
"This will all work out in the end," Dumbledore said, stroking the child's hair. "This will all work out in the end." 


	5. A Brief Interlude on the Other Side of t...

Chapter Five -- A Brief Interlude on the Other Side of the Fence  
  
While Harry was sobbing on the cold stone floor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, things weren't, as Muggles say, "greener on the other side of the fence." Lord Voldemort sat in a high-backed wooden chair in a place far above all of his Death Eaters who cowered before him -- As they well should.  
  
"I can't believe it," he chuckled. "A spell I cast over fifty years ago, finally taking its toll on my life . . . So I have been bound then, have I?"  
  
Lucius Malfoy was the one to step forward.  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"And may I ask who I have been bound to?"  
  
Lucius looked around at the circle of Death Eaters who had assembled that day. No one wanted to tell Lord Voldemort that he had been bound to the young Potter child. No one wanted to break that sort of news to the most powerful Dark Lord ever known.  
  
"Well?" Voldemort asked, drumming his fingers against the armrest impatiently. "Who have I been bound to?"  
  
"Young Harry Potter, my Lord," Lucius said, wanting to get this entire thing over with as quickly as possible and hoping that Voldemort wouldn't decide to follow the Roman example and kill the messenger.  
  
The drumming stopped.  
  
"What did you say?" Voldemort asked quietly, threateningly.  
  
"You've been bound to Harry Potter," Lucius responded, slowly to make sure that Voldemort understood him correctly. He didn't want to have to repeat himself.  
  
"Harry Potter," Voldemort repeated. Lucius couldn't grasp any emotion coming from the Dark Lord. What was he thinking? How did he feel about this entire thing?  
  
"Befitting," Voldemort suddenly said, raising the hood of his cape. The red eyes beat down upon the Death Eaters. "And horribly ironic, wouldn't you say Lucius?"  
  
Lucius suddenly felt a twinge of pity for the Potter boy. Here sat Voldemort: The great Dark Lord -- powerful beyond belief, evil beyond belief. This gaunt, white, skeletal creature sitting before them was the boy's fate. The poor child . . .  
  
"Yes, my Lord. Horribly ironic."  
  
"Yes," Voldemort sighed, looking at a portrait on the wall absent- mindedly. The portrait was of a young boy -- smiling smugly at the artist while he worked. He had one of those expressions that taunted -- "I know something you don't know . . ." Ah, Tom Riddle!  
  
"Has anyone told the boy yet?" Voldemort asked, snapping back to attention.  
  
"Yes, my Lord. Professor Dumbledore has taken it upon himself to tell the boy."  
  
"Dumbledore," Voldemort said. He smiled and Lucius shivered. There was something about those cold, white lips that made them disturbing when they contorted and twisted into a smile. "It is also befitting that Dumbledore should tell the boy. Dumbledore was the one who convinced me to do the binding spell in the first place. Thought it would keep me in line."  
  
"Hasn't worked very well then," Lucius said under his breath, certain that Voldemort couldn't hear him.  
  
"When does the child turn sixteen?" Voldemort asked.  
  
"In a couple of weeks. He'll be staying at Hogwarts through the summer vacation this year. He'll need some time to adjust to the idea of course, my Lord."  
  
"Of course," Voldemort repeated, not really paying attention. "You may all leave now."  
  
Lucius didn't protest. He quickly grabbed his robes and left the room. The other Death Eaters followed suit.  
  
Voldemort looked back up at the portrait. The child smiling smugly -- not at the artist this time, but directly at him.  
  
"What, Tom Riddle?" Voldemort laughed. "Why are you sitting there, looking so smug? Why are you smiling at me like that -- you coy little thing!" It had been so long since Voldemort had identified himself as Tom Riddle . . . It no longer seemed odd to address the portrait as an entity completely different from himself.  
  
"I can just see you," he said to himself, leaning back in the hard chair, "Poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student . . ." Voldemort remembered the words exactly, then he added: "And a complete and utter fool."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing respectfully before Voldemort. "Albus Dumbledore is here to see you -- It's urgent."  
  
"Send him in," Voldemort said with a wave of his hand. He had been expecting Albus Dumbledore to come calling for some time now. He always loved hearing from his old Transfiguration teacher -- From the one who hadn't been lured in by his charms.  
  
At that moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror -- a snake-like monster. Charms, Lord Voldemort? Charms? What charms are you speaking of?  
  
Dumbledore entered the room, clad in a deep royal blue cloak with the hood up.  
  
"Afraid that someone will see you coming to call on me then, Professor?" Voldemort hissed. He was amazed at his own hostility. Dumbledore lifted his hood. "Senile old man," Voldemort thought to himself but somewhere he felt a twinge of fear. Senile but powerful . . .  
  
"In my position, it isn't wise to be paying a visit to Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, with a sad smile. "How have you been Tom?"  
  
"Are you looking for an answer or are you just being cordial?"  
  
"Looking for an answer," Dumbledore said with a caring concern that just about undid Voldemort.  
  
"Fine," Voldemort snapped. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me Tom. It's been a long time since I was Tom."  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "A long time." He paused and started in on the main topic of interest. "Have you heard the news then?"  
  
"Yes. Unfortunately I can't blame you for this predicament. You warned me about the binding spell. But Harry Potter . . ." Voldemort laughed, coldly. "Who would have thought that the one person in the universe who is completely complementary to me . . . Harry Potter."  
  
"I wasn't expecting it myself," Dumbledore said, taking a seat at a long, mahogany table. "I should have seen it though . . . Harry looks so much like you did at that age. He has the same glint of ambition in his eyes. He wants to prove himself, just like you always did. Your wands even correspond," Dumbledore said, brightly.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it?" Voldemort said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Yes. You realize that, by being bound to you, our young Mister Potter will never have another chance at a relationship? You are his live- all, end-all. Harry will never be married. He will never have children. He will miss out on so many of the events that make life wonderful."  
  
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty, Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
"No. I am just pointing out the facts of the matter. The one thing that desperately bothered Harry was the romantic connotation that being bound has."  
  
"Has the boy had any previous experience?" Voldemort asked suddenly, a slight flush rising into his white cheeks.  
  
"Not really," Dumbledore smiled. "He hasn't gone very far with Miss Chang -- despite the fact that he considers it an 'avid night of passion.'"  
  
Voldemort smiled. There was something so appealing in the naivete of youth.  
  
"He's very confused right now," Dumbledore continued. "There's the question of his own sexuality, for the first thing. Being bound to you, he realizes that he'll probably have an obligation to sleep with you . . . You are aware of that obligation, are you not?"  
  
Voldemort nodded his head, solemnly. That thought had crossed his mind -- many times.  
  
"That was absolutely devastating to the boy," Dumbledore sighed. "It would be so much easier if he were just a bit older . . . Sixteen is a hard age."  
  
"I remember when I was sixteen," Voldemort said, relaxing a bit from his previous state of anger and fear. He picked up a pitcher and poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to Professor Dumbledore. "It is a hard age. I can swear to that."  
  
"And then there's the question of him being bound to, well . . . you. Sworn enemies for life, now bound as lovers."  
  
"Stop it," Voldemort scowled. "You're making it sound romantic."  
  
"I suppose," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of wine. "It would have been easier if you hadn't killed the boy's parents, you do know that."  
  
"I hadn't exactly been counting on this."  
  
"I know," Dumbledore said, finishing off his glass of wine and rising to his feet. He put his cloak back on and pulled a vial from one of the pockets. "I best be off then. Hogwarts waits for no man." He handed the vial to Voldemort. "Take this before you go to bed tonight."  
  
"What is it?" Voldemort asked skeptically.  
  
"It's just something to make Harry a bit . . . more at ease with the entire idea," Dumbledore smiled. "Trust me."  
  
"I should know better than to trust you."  
  
"Trust me." 


	6. Coping with the Unavoidable

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who left reviews -- especially Akima Maxwell and Three Oranges (My favorite fanfiction.net author)  
  
Chapter Six -- Coping with the Unavoidable  
  
"Harry, you can't just sit in your bed all day and look out the window," Hermione said gently. "Why don't you please just tell me what's wrong?" There was no response from Harry so she quoted the old Muggle maxim, "A trouble shared is a trouble halved."  
  
"Go away," Harry said, coldly. He was amazed at his own hostility. Hermione was only trying to be helpful . . . But he didn't want her help at the moment. He wanted her to leave him alone. He wanted everyone to just leave him alone.  
  
"Is it about the binding spell?" Hermione asked, refusing to take Harry's orders. "Of course it's about the binding spell," she said, more to herself than to Harry. "You said you wouldn't be happy with whomever you were bound to. Have you found out who it is yet? Are you unhappy about that?"  
  
Harry simply buried his head deeper in the pillow. "If only you knew, Hermione," he thought to himself. But he just didn't feel up to telling her the identity of his "soulmate."  
  
"Harry, we can . . ."  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Potter?" The voice was bitter but tired -- Severus Snape.  
  
"You better go Hermione," Harry said, completely devoid of any emotion. "I think Professor Snape wants to talk to me."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, shrinking back a little like he'd just slapped her. "Well, if you need me, I'll be down in the Common Room. Whatever's happening to you, Harry, I'll understand and support you. I'm always there for you."  
  
"Go," Harry demanded and this time, Hermione did go . . . And Severus Snape came into the room.  
  
"Potter, I want to talk to you about this binding spell."  
  
Harry sighed. Of course. What else would he have wanted to talk about? The weather? Quidditch? Harry's now non-existent love life?  
  
"Harry," Snape said gingerly. "Dumbledore told me that you're bound to Lord . . . Tom Riddle. I was wondering if we could talk about what's going on at the moment. You seem fairly confused and upset and I've been worried about you -- We all have." Harry was a bit taken aback. First of all, it was the first time that Snape had called him by his first name -- Harry. It was also the first time that Snape had ever shown any concern for his arch-rival's son.  
  
"Sure," Harry said, more from shock than actually wanting to talk about anything.  
  
"From the moment that Dumbledore first told me about that binding spell, just a little while after you had first come to Hogwarts, I had a feeling that you were going to be the one -- the one who would be bound to Tom. You just reminded me of him so much . . ."  
  
Harry shuddered at the thought of being so much like Tom Riddle. Were they really that similar? Did everyone see this except for him?  
  
"I was surprised when the Sorting Hat didn't place you in Slytherin, actually," Snape said, his lips on the verge of a smile -- Something that bothered Harry immensely. "So much like Tom and I thought you would be . . ." Snape cut himself off with a meaningful glance at Harry. Harry could complete the Potion Master's sentence -- "So much like Tom and I thought you would be a great and powerful Dark Lord, just like him. I thought that your heart might be in the wrong place too, Harry James Potter."  
  
"I know this is going to be hard for you," Snape continued. "And you've probably heard Dumbledore say that people are bound together for a reason. I'm not going to lie to you: It's going to be difficult at first. You two are probably going to hate each other more than life and it's going to be a sheer hell having to spend almost every moment of every day with one another. Not only that but the fact that binding is such a damned romantic affair . . ." Harry shuddered -- Again with the romance! Why did everyone have to rub it in that binding was a romantic thing? "I mean, binding it usually connected with sonnets and walks in the park and diamonds and all of those things that make prominent appearances in dime- store romance novels."  
  
The extremely nonchalant way that Snape said all of this absolutely killed Harry. "Don't teachers have any shame?" he wondered fleetingly.  
  
"I know you've probably heard Dumbledore say that Tom Riddle is a boy who could make you very happy," Snape said as Harry lay back down onto the bed, resting his head on the down pillow. "This is true. Tom Riddle could make you extraordinarily happy. And once you two get through these first difficult months, I think that you'll both be very pleased with this relationship. There are going to be some things that you're never going to be able to put behind you -- The fact that he killed your parents, the fact that he tried to kill you all of those times. He's going to have some of the same problems -- Living with the fact that he almost lost everything he had because you just had to be 'The Boy Who Lived.' You two are going to argue and bicker and sometimes straight out fight . . . But you two are going to be happy. I know that Dumbledore told you almost this exact same thing but I just had a feeling that, when he said it, you wouldn't believe it. Dumbledore is such a kind and good person. I, on the other hand, am neither kind nor good. What I tell you is simply the truth. And I feel as if you can believe me."  
  
Harry nodded solemnly.  
  
"I'll leave you now. I just wanted to tell you . . . Dumbledore isn't just trying to make you feel better. He's telling you the truth about this -- As amazing as it might sound. You will meet Tom Riddle, you will grow to know him, you will fall in love with him, and the two of you will be happy."  
  
And with that, Snape left Harry with his own thoughts.  
  
"God," Harry muttered to himself. "What does he think I am: Completely ignorant? Of course I don't believe that one!"  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
Voldemort slept late which wasn't normal for him. He fleetingly wondered if that potion that Dumbledore had given him the night before wasn't having some strange, unnatural effects. He had taken the potion, after much contemplation, before he went to bed -- Just as Dumbledore had instructed. He closed his eyes. Nothing felt wrong with him. He quickly got out of bed and stretched, noticing that he felt much better than he had the night before. He felt suppler.  
  
He walked in front of the mirror to make sure that Dumbledore hadn't, in a fit of irritation, turned him into a living Medusa or something of the sort. Although Dumbledore had seemed kind and compassionate the night before, Voldemort knew that he was capable of cruel things.  
  
He looked at his reflection in the mirror and laughed quietly. Some sort of enchantment had been placed on the mirror! It was like the Mirror of Erised -- only better Voldemort noted appreciatively, looking himself up and down.  
  
In the mirror, he saw the child he had once been -- The charming and cocky Tom Riddle. With jet black hair that fell carelessly over his eyes, with that smug little smile that he was absolutely notorious for, with that golden skin that caught the eye when he passed . . . He felt melancholy all of a sudden. Had he ever actually been this lovely? Or was it some sort of dream that had passed?  
  
When Voldemort realized that he was getting wistful, he decided that it was time to put an end to foolish and childish daydreams. He would seriously reprimand whoever had enchanted his mirror. "Inclino," he sighed with a wave of his wand.  
  
But the reflection didn't change.  
  
"Inclino," he tried again, waving his wand more firmly this time. Nothing happened. Was something wrong? Had Dumbledore somehow dissolved Voldemort's powers? Had Dumbledore put some sort of curse on Voldemort's wand? What was going on here?  
  
Voldemort stuffed his wand into one of the deep pockets in his robes and stormed out of his chambers. "If Dumbledore did anything brash," Tom thought to himself, "He would pay for it." Tom smiled at the thought of Dumbledore suffering within an inch of his life for whatever evil he had done the illustrious Tom Riddle.  
  
No, not Tom Riddle.  
  
The illustrious Lord Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort was in this state of sheer rage when he found himself lying flat on the floor. He sat up, rubbing the bump that was quickly developing on his head. Lucius Malfoy had accidentally run into him while turning a corner.  
  
"God Lucius," Voldemort snapped. "Why do you even bother staying here? You make it perfectly obvious that you loathe, detest, and abhor me? Why do you feel the need to play the respectful lapdog? Just go home to your wife and that little Draco."  
  
Lucius meanwhile was staring at him in wide-eyed shock.  
  
"My Lord, what happened to you?" he stammered out.  
  
"What do you mean what's happened to me? Dumbledore must have cast some sort of awful enchantment on me . . ."  
  
"Awful?" Lucius scoffed. "This is . . . You look . . . My God . . ." Lucius stumbled out a bunch of fragments before finally settling on: "Tom Riddle?"  
  
Voldemort was taken aback to say the least. Then it suddenly occurred to him.  
  
"Lucius," he said slowly. "How do I appear to you?"  
  
"Why . . . You're . . . You're attractive!" Lucius exclaimed, as if this were the most unbelievable thing he had ever experienced. "You're young and lovely and charming and . . ." Lucius quickly remembered his place. "My Lord."  
  
Voldemort pulled up the sleeve of his robe and saw that it was true. His skin was still that healthy golden color. He began to laugh -- almost sweetly.  
  
"Leave it to you, Dumbledore," Voldemort -- Tom Riddle -- smiled. "Leave it to you to think up something like this." 


	7. Summer Arrives

Chapter Seven -- Summer Arrives  
  
Tom Riddle sat on an oversized trunk in the middle of Kings Cross Station. Inside were all of the belongings that he'd deemed important: His wand, his cloaks, a few bags of herbs, and some books. Everything else, he claimed, was irrelevant.  
  
Lucius had seen him off that morning with a smile and a nod. It made Tom uncomfortable -- suddenly being treated like a young child on his first day to school. Sometimes he had to keep repeating to himself, "I am Lord Voldemort, I am Lord Voldemort." Yet here he was, in the guise of a lovely sixteen-year-old boy, off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the summer months. He had to smile at that.  
  
He checked the clock. The Hogwarts Express would be arriving soon and he wanted to get on that train and off to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. He couldn't stand being in this Muggle-infested train station. Everything in the station screamed Muggle -- from the children running along with sticky lollypop fingers to the entrepreneurs briskly going from gate to gate, talking on their cell phones. It practically made him ill. Muggles -- everywhere.  
  
He got up from his less-than-comfortable seat and hauled his trunk over to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Platform Nine and Three- Quarters -- How long had it been! He suddenly remembered himself doing this as a child -- Running through the barrier and smiling at the scarlet steam engine on the other side. How whimsical!  
  
He held his breath, for old time's sake, and ran straight at the barrier, pulling his trunk behind him. And then, there he was -- on good old Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring at that lovely scarlet steam engine. The children were getting off, hauling satchels and wardrobes and cages with ruffled owls. They were hugging each other good-bye and exchanging some last minute gossip on their classmates and even on the faculty. And Tom found himself happily drifting back to when he was an ambitious young Hogwarts student. In some ways, it seemed so long ago. In other ways, it seemed like only yesterday. "I am Lord Voldemort," he whispered to himself. "I am Lord Voldemort."  
  
He recognized some of the students. The brilliant Hermione Granger and the less-than-brilliant Ron Weasley stepped off of the train together. Then there was Lucius Malfoy's son, Draco, who walked with a swagger and his two flunkies, Crabbe and Goyle. He almost pulled the hood of his cape up so that no one could see his face but then he thought better . . . Who would recognize him here? Who would ever think that . . .  
  
"Tom Riddle," declared a low whisper and Tom cringed. He would know that voice anywhere. Rubeus Hagrid -- The boy he had falsely accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets back in 1943. Exactly the man he hadn't wanted to see.  
  
"I'd put your hood up if I were you," Hagrid continued. "You never know who could be standing on this platform -- Who could recognize you. I don't think it would do any good for the student body to know that Lord Voldemort is staying at Hogwarts."  
  
Tom did as suggested and pulled his hood up.  
  
"I'm to see you to the train," Hagrid explained. "You better listen to me carefully. Dumbledore seems to have a great deal of confidence in you. Personally, I don't trust you."  
  
"Speaking from experience, Hagrid?" Tom smirked.  
  
"I'm just telling you to watch yourself."  
  
"I think it's fairly humorous that you're giving me a warning," Tom said, smiling sardonically under his cloak. "After all, you've never received proper training in the magical arts. You can cast . . . what? A few simple spells? You forget Hagrid -- I'm one of the most powerful wizards of this age."  
  
"I'm just telling you to watch yourself," Hagrid repeated threateningly. He picked up Tom's trunk and hauled it onto the train while Tom followed swiftly behind him.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
"You wanted me?"  
  
Dumbledore had summoned Harry to his office . . . again. Harry found himself in a rather solemn mood. Whenever he came to Dumbledore's office, it was usually to hear some bad news.  
  
"I just wanted to let you know," Dumbledore said, "Tom Riddle will be arriving at Hogwarts this evening."  
  
"Oh. So soon."  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore replied sympathetically. "I probably should have told you about the binding spell before now. This is all probably happening a little too quickly for you but . . ." Dumbledore pulled a black leather book out of his desk drawer. "I wanted you to take a look at this."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Open it up," Dumbledore smiled.  
  
Harry opened the book and found a picture of a lovely sixteen-year- old boy with jet black hair and crimson eyes. His slight form was draped in heavy green velvet robes. Although the boy was smiling, he appeared rather saturnine to Harry. His eyes were sad.  
  
"Tom Riddle," Harry said, recognizing the boy immediately.  
  
"That picture was taken during Tom's sixth year," Dumbledore said. "He was your age."  
  
Harry, for the first time, noticed the resemblance.  
  
"He looks sad," Harry stated, handing the book back to Dumbledore.  
  
"He was a very tragic character. Very tragic indeed."  
  
Harry stood there awkwardly. Dumbledore's sudden melancholy was making him uncomfortable. He decided to change the subject.  
  
"What time is . . . Tom . . ." The name felt strange on his lips. Tom. Just Tom. "What time is Tom going to be arriving?"  
  
"He'll be arriving in Hogsmeade around seven," Dumbledore replied. "We're to meet him at the railroad station."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, surprised and disappointed at the same time.  
  
"What? Is something the matter?"  
  
"It's just . . . I didn't think that we'd have to go and meet him there."  
  
Dumbledore smiled with understanding. "You were hoping that Tom would arrive, retire to his rooms and that you could avoid seeing him for the duration of the summer," Dumbledore said, practically reading Harry's mind. "It wouldn't make it any easier for you. If anything, it would just make it harder. The more time you two spend together, the better."  
  
Harry grimaced. He didn't want to spend any time with that . . . thing. He'd dead-bolt his door if he had to. He'd dead-bolt his door . . . And Voldemort could promptly open it using "Alohomora." Thwarted again, Harry thought to himself.  
  
"It's three now," Dumbledore said, looking up at a clock. "We should be starting off to Hogsmeade soon. Change your clothes then and go get something to eat. I'll meet you up in the great hall at five."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
Tom Riddle sat, completely alone, in the compartment. He stared out of the window and wondered what Hogwarts was like now. Severus Snape still teaching potions, he smiled to himself. He would have fun tormenting Snape. But what would it be like? He found his mind lingering on formalities. Where would he stay? Where would he eat? Not in the Great Hall, he scoffed. The staff couldn't stand him, the students would avoid him at all costs. And, for the first time, the high Dark Lord felt like a complete recluse. "So this is what being infamous is like," he thought to himself.  
  
Hogwarts Express pulled up into the railroad station. "God, here already," Tom thought to himself, suddenly beginning to feel nervous. "I am Lord Voldemort," he repeated to himself quietly, as if he could grasp at some sort of strength from that fact. "Oh forget it," he sighed. "Like that's going to matter at all here. I am Lord Voldemort . . . I'm Tom Riddle." That was the first time he'd referred to himself by that name in a while and it made him feel strange. I am Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The prodigy child of Hogwarts.  
  
He shivered.  
  
"Oh Tom," he scolded himself. "Why are you getting so worked up over this? You've seen years of death, torture, and pain. You've withstood tests of strength and willpower. You've had legions of loyal followers beneath you. And now you're getting nervous about what? Returning to your old school? This is positively ridiculous, Tom Riddle."  
  
He got off of the train and found that his trunk had already been unloaded by Hagrid. He could see the imprint of a fist in the fine leather. "Ah, my old classmate," Tom smiled. "Still bearing a grudge after all these years? About what I did to you all those years ago or about what I did to young Mister Potter, I wonder."  
  
Young Mister Potter. Tom had hardly thought about the boy at all during the trip and now he remembered that Harry Potter was the purpose to this visit. Harry Potter was the most important part of this entire fiasco. Tom briefly wondered if the boy had grown any since their last encounter.  
  
"Tom!"  
  
Tom turned around quickly and saw Dumbledore waving cheerfully to him from the side of the street. Tom was shocked to say the least. He hadn't expected anyone to come and meet him at the station. He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased with this or . . . His thoughts trailed off when he saw a small shape standing behind Dumbledore. The shape was completely covered in a heavy red robe with the hood completely covering the face.  
  
It was Harry Potter.  
  
Tom knew it was Harry. He also knew, even from such a distance, that the young boy was crying. He could feel it. "I guess this is what it's like to be bound," Tom fleetingly thought to himself. Is that why the boy had covered his face? To try and stop Tom from seeing his tears? Tom didn't know what to make of the young Mister Potter. He decided to remain casually aloof to his archenemy and stood there, arms crossed and looking as hostile as ever. "After all," Tom Riddle thought to himself. "This is 'The Boy Who Lived.' Let him suffer with this relationship for a while." All those nights that Tom had dreamed about revenge on the young Potter boy were finally coming to light and he was going to enjoy it . . . At least for a while.  
  
"Tom Riddle," Dumbledore smiled, walking up to his former pupil. "How wonderful to see you looking . . . so well!" Dumbledore's smile became even wider at the thought that he had brought about this amazing and appealing transformation.  
  
"Pleased to see you again also, Professor Dumbledore," Tom said, not sounding very pleased at all.  
  
"I was thinking that maybe we could stop down at The Three Broomsticks and get some butterbeer. After all, it's not every day that one of my students -- especially so prestigious a student -- comes back to Hogwarts."  
  
Tom heard a quick, throaty sob come from under the hood and smiled -- feeling genuinely cruel since the first time he had gotten the news about the binding spell.  
  
"I would love to," he said. 


	8. The End of an Era

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to ThreeOranges -- I read your review and decided it was time for the next chapter  
  
Chapter Eight -- The End of an Era  
  
Dumbledore looked over at the two "children." He had insisted that they take a table by themselves over in the corner -- hoping to push the two of them together a little. It didn't appear to be working. Tom Riddle had tipped his chair back against the wall and was sipping on his third glass of butterbeer. Harry Potter was turned so that he was facing the wall and he had crumpled himself up into a little ball. Dumbledore guessed that he was probably crying.  
  
Dumbledore smiled brightly when Tom finally began to speak. He guessed that the words being exchanged were not of the friendliest nature but at least out-right bickering would be better than the tense, miserable silence. Anything was better than that.  
  
"For someone so famous, you certainly don't talk much," Tom smirked, leaning even farther back in his chair. "The world-renowned 'Boy Who Lived.'" It wasn't that Tom wanted to talk to Harry Potter -- It was simply the fact that the silence was killing him. "Come on," Tom thought to himself. "Do something! Snap at me, scream at me, try to strangle me . . . But just do something!" Tom couldn't stand this treatment coming from his young nemesis.  
  
Harry wasn't responding.  
  
"Tell me," Tom said, trying to get any sort of rise from the young boy. "How does it feel being bound to one of the most powerful Dark Lords the world had ever known?"  
  
Harry still wasn't responding.  
  
Tom decided to fall back onto a last resort and do something exceptionally cruel. Anything to get a reaction from this boy. "Whatever the case, I don't think that being bound to you should be quite as awful as I first thought. You're at least more attractive than your father was. Killing him was no great loss to the world."  
  
That did it.  
  
Harry snapped around in his chair, the hood of his robe falling down so that his face was finally visible.  
  
"Just shut up, will you?" Harry shouted. "Just shut up and leave me alone, you wretched . . . thing! You horrible, miserable, disgusting thing!" Tom felt something wet dripping down his cheek. It was then that he realized that the boy had spat on him.  
  
"Well," Tom thought to himself, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "At least it was some sort of reaction. At least, I know I can still get under the boy's skin." For some reason, this didn't make Tom quite as happy as it should of. The boy hadn't turned back around to face the wall. Instead, his eyes were averted downward so that he wouldn't have to look at that "disgusting thing."  
  
Tom glanced at the boy. Harry had grown since the last time Tom saw him. He was just beginning to come out of that awkward phase that all teenagers go through, thank god. He wasn't an unattractive boy, Tom was pleased to note. He was just . . . Harry Potter. That was distasteful enough for Tom.  
  
Madame Rosmerta came over with Tom's fourth glass of butterbeer.  
  
"I was just wondering," she said, smiling amiably, "Are you two related? You just look so much alike."  
  
Harry glared at her but Tom was smiling right back with his usual amount of charm.  
  
"No," Tom replied. "We're not related. We're just old . . . acquaintances."  
  
"Enemies," Harry muttered so that only Tom could hear.  
  
"I think I'll hold off on that fourth butterbeer," Tom said to Madame Rosmerta. "It's probably time for us to be getting back to Hogwarts."  
  
"Whatever you say," Madame Rosmerta said, taking the butterbeer over to another table.  
  
"It's either 'acquaintance' or 'intended,'" Tom said, his voice filled with invective.  
  
"How 'bout you just leave me alone and we can have nothing to do with each other? You're nothing to me and I'm nothing to you," Harry sneered.  
  
"Sorry Potter," Tom said, getting to his feet and smoothing out his cloak. "That's not the way things work."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------- --- -----------------------------------------  
  
"The formalities?" Dumbledore asked, obviously confused. "What formalities?"  
  
"The formalities," Tom repeated. They were in the boat, heading across the Lake to Hogwarts. Harry was once again crumpled up into a little ball in the stern, hood up and crying. "There are always formalities. Where am I going to live? What am I going to spend all of my time doing? If you couldn't tell, Hogwarts isn't the best place for me to be at the moment."  
  
"Oh!" Dumbledore said, with sudden realization. "The formalities! Well, until July 31st, you will reside in Professor Snape's chambers. After that, you two will share a set of chambers."  
  
"Really," Tom breathed. He heard a sharp sob from over in the stern and guessed that Harry was just as uncomfortable with the idea as he was.  
  
"I was hoping that you would consider helping me with some projects during your spare time," Dumbledore said with a knowing glance at Tom. Tom could tell what that statement meant: "Hoping you would consider helping with some projects that students definitely aren't supposed to know about."  
  
"I'll consider it," Tom said but his curiosity had already been peaked. What projects were being formulated at Hogwarts?  
  
"You were our brightest student," Dumbledore smiled. "And now, if you would assist us, you would be the greatest help, really you would. You see Tom," and Dumbledore suddenly became very serious, "Have you not stopped to think of what will happen in the world of the magical arts now that you have come to Hogwarts?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Your reign in the Dark Arts has ended, Tom."  
  
Tom started up at this. What? His reign -- ended? What on earth was Professor Dumbledore talking about? He was just beginning to reach a new height of power! Followers were gathering, fear was once again striking into the wizarding community . . . And now it was over?  
  
"By having to stay at Hogwarts for the next two years, you will no longer be able to keep as tight a grip on your Death Eaters. Have you never thought that Lucius might try rising up against you? He is ambitious, you know. Almost too ambitious. With you temporarily out of the picture, Lucius will take control of the Death Eaters and begin to take your place."  
  
Tom stared at Dumbledore, eyes wide in shock. Lucius? Take his place? But of course! Why hadn't Tom seen it before? Lucius was a part of the inner circle of Death Eaters -- He had friends. He had spent all of his time by Voldemort's side to cast away suspicion but now that Voldemort was out of the picture . . .  
  
"How could I have been so blind?" Tom murmured and fleetingly noticed that Harry had lifted his head up. His eyes, still gleaming with tears, were now focused directly on Tom. "How could I have been so blind?"  
  
"Without a doubt, you have lost your power over the Dark Forces. With an army of Death Eaters loyally standing behind Lucius, you will never be able to reclaim your rule. This is the end of an era, Tom. But you can still be great . . ."  
  
Tom looked up at Dumbledore expectantly.  
  
"Come and stay at Hogwarts, help us and work with us. You are extraordinarily gifted, Tom. You always have been. There is a war being waged here and we could use a brilliant wizard such as yourself. And paired with the illustrious Harry Potter . . . There would be no stopping you."  
  
Tom seriously considered this.  
  
"Think about it, Tom," Dumbledore said with complete confidence. "You could be powerful again. You could be great. Come over to our side and we can restore you to a place of prestige. Instead of brewing in infamy, we can make you famous! Your name will be praised everywhere. You will be adored. Admit that you haven't felt isolated these past few years, Tom. Admit that, coming to Hogwarts again, you didn't feel like a complete recluse."  
  
Tom remained silent.  
  
"You don't have to feel like that anymore. We can turn everything right again. You just have to help us. And the revenge that you could seek on Lucius Malfoy . . ."  
  
This struck a chord with Tom. While he fancied the thought of no longer being a complete outcast, he adored the thought of revenge against that sniveling aristocrat. To hear Lucius Malfoy screaming out in pain while he muttered "Crucio" long into the night. It was practically blissful . . .  
  
"I'll think about it," Tom smiled. Then on reflection: "You really did figure out how to put me in check. This binding spell worked out exactly the way you wanted it to. You must be very pleased with yourself."  
  
Dumbledore looked over at Harry who was still sobbing.  
  
"Not as much as you'd like to think." 


	9. Spell Casting

Chapter Nine -- Spell Casting  
  
Tom and Harry took dinner in the Great Hall together that evening -- on Professor Dumbledore's insistence. Harry had long since dried his eyes and was now staring, sullenly, at a pile of mashed potatoes, stirring them around with his fork. Tom, on the other hand, was steadily working on his second helping.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked Harry, not concerned but just curious. "Aren't you hungry at all?"  
  
"No," Harry mumbled. "Not that you care."  
  
Tom shrugged, nonchalantly. The boy was right. He didn't care.  
  
"You know, Dumbledore keeps telling me that we're going to be happy together and that everything's going to turn out all right in the end," Harry continued, once again on the brink of tears. "But I just hate you so much and I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life with you . . ."  
  
Harry turned his face to the side and attempted to gag his sobs -- As if Tom wouldn't know that the boy was crying.  
  
"Don't cry," Tom said, more irritated than anything. "I hate it when people cry."  
  
"Oh, sod off then!" Harry wept.  
  
"Can't," Tom sighed. "Dumbledore wants us to stay in here -- alone and together -- for at least another half an hour."  
  
"Why does he insist on torturing me like this?" Harry asked.  
  
"You?" Tom hissed. "What makes you think he's only torturing you? Do you think I like being stuck here any better than you do?"  
  
Harry stopped weeping for a moment and looked up at Tom with large green eyes.  
  
"I s'ppose not."  
  
For the first time that night, Tom noticed the lightening bolt scar on Harry's forehead -- The one that marked him as "The Boy who Lived." That symbol of good defeating evil that had practically become legend in the wizarding world.  
  
"I gave you that then," Tom muttered, more to himself than to Harry. Harry looked confused for a moment and then he realized that Tom was staring at the scar. He quickly smoothed his hair over the mark, making sure that it was out of sight. "Out of sight, out of mind," as the Muggle saying goes.  
  
"No bother," Harry said quickly, trying to dismiss the scar -- wishing right then that he could just rub the damned thing off.  
  
"No, I just thought that . . . Doesn't it hurt?"  
  
Harry looked at Tom Riddle -- Crimson eyes glistening, looking very interested in whatever Harry had to say. Tom's eyes looked warm to Harry for some reason.  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, not really. Dumbledore gave me a potion a few days back so that I wouldn't feel anything. It itches a little though," Harry said, rubbing the mark through the layer of messy black hair.  
  
"Sorry," Tom said, slumping back in his chair.  
  
"No you're not," Harry sighed.  
  
The rest of the evening was spent in silence.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
Tom woke up bright and early the next morning -- sometime around five -- and decided to go down to the Great Hall and have breakfast before Harry Potter woke up. He trounced down to the Great Hall and entered to find . . . Harry Potter sitting at one of the tables, working on a potions project. Harry looked up when Tom entered the room but quickly turned back to his work.  
  
"Sorry," Tom muttered. "Didn't think you'd be up yet."  
  
"I always wake up early," Harry snapped. Five o'clock in the morning and the boy was already hostile.  
  
"So do I," Tom stated. Harry stopped his work momentarily. "What are you working on?" Tom asked, showing a slight amount of interest.  
  
"Potions project," Harry grumbled.  
  
"What's wrong? Not coming out right?"  
  
"It's coming along fine," Harry said quickly, not wanting any of Tom Riddle's help. Tom walked behind Harry to get a better view of the caldron. The young boy flinched but Tom didn't take much notice. The concoction was blackish brown and bubbled furtively. "What is it supposed to be?" Tom asked distastefully.  
  
"It's a sleeping draft," Harry said matter-of-factly.  
  
"A sleeping draft?" Tom laughed. "That's supposed to be a sleeping draft? Try some asphodel."  
  
"I don't need your help," Harry scowled but Tom noticed that Harry slipped a little bit of asphodel into the caldron. The potion stopped bubbling and turned a charming violet color.  
  
"I was top of my potion's class," Tom said with a wide grin. Harry felt his cheeks beginning to burn. "Not only is he horrible, miserable, and disgusting," Harry thought to himself. "He's bossy and arrogant too."  
  
Harry tried to imagine what his parents would think of this situation -- Harry, sitting in the Great Hall, receiving academic assistance from Lord Voldemort himself. Would they be disgraced? Would they be depressed? Would they pity their poor son?  
  
"Wondering what your parents would think?" Tom asked, suddenly. Harry leapt to his feet. It was as if Tom Riddle was reading his mind.  
  
"How'd you know that?"  
  
"Just a good guess," Tom shrugged. "How much time every day do you spend thinking about your parents?" Then he added, as the traditional hurtful side note: "And are they really worth all the time you spend on them?"  
  
"Of course they're worth it," Harry snarled.  
  
"You never met them," Tom said, nonchalantly. "How do you know they're worth the time of day?"  
  
"I just know," Harry replied, bitterly. "And I'm always thinking about my parents. They mean more to me than anything in the world."  
  
"Suit yourself," Tom said, not wanting to argue with the devoted young boy at this hour of the morning.  
  
"Don't talk about my parents anymore," Harry commanded, sitting back down in the stiff, wooden chair. "It seems wrong."  
  
"Why's that?" Tom asked, puzzled.  
  
"You're too far below them," Harry said, biting into the words. Tom was just about ready to give the boy a serious piece of his mind when Dumbledore cast bursting into the Great Hall. "Lucky for you, Potter," Tom thought to himself giving the boy his coldest stare.  
  
"Ah! How convenient to find you both awake!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "I thought that maybe we could go for a walk around the forest today or maybe we could take a trip down to Hogsmeade or maybe we could . . ."  
  
Tom and Harry just glared at each other.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
Harry crossed off another box on his calendar. Another day done, another day closer to July 31st. Harry shuddered -- He didn't want to think about it. Only about a week longer and he'd be officially bound to Tom Riddle. God, what would Hermione and Ron say when they got back? And then there was Ginny who had already experienced the glory of Tom . . . She had always had a bit of a crush on Harry. What would she think about this situation?  
  
Harry flopped down onto his bed and sighed. "Alright Harry," he thought to himself. "You've been wallowing in self-pity for long enough. Time for some optimism." Would life be that awful with Tom? Other than the fact that the boy was cruel, heartless, insensitive, and full of bitter hatred and malice, there wasn't anything wrong with him. "He's certainly attractive enough," Harry thought to himself and then realized that he shouldn't be thinking about things like that. After all, looks are completely inconsequential. "All that glisters is not gold," Harry thought, quoting the Muggle playwright, William Shakespeare. Tom Riddle might have glistered but he certainly wasn't gold.  
  
"Enough optimism," Harry sighed. "There is no optimism in this situation. You're stuck with the most hateful boy the world has ever known and you're stuck with him for life. How could you ever be optimistic about that?"  
  
Harry glanced at his calendar. Eight more days and Harry felt like he was counting down to the apocalypse. 


	10. Something Blue

Author's Note: Finally, a semi-slash moment! Semi-slash . . . (Well, we can't rush the boys, you know) -- Sorry it's a bit short  
  
Chapter Ten -- Something Blue  
  
Harry stood in the middle of his room, staring at the light blue robe that was laid out on his bed. Dumbledore had put it there that morning, hoping to pleasantly surprise Harry. Harry just stared at the robe, dumbfounded. Did Dumbledore honestly think that Harry planned on celebrating this "joyous occasion?" Did Dumbledore think that buying some fine clothing was going to warm Harry up to the idea of the binding ceremony? Harry scoffed.  
  
The blue robe was magnificently crafted. Harry could see all of the tiny stitches -- sewn by hand, not by magic. The sleeves were trimmed with white braiding, as was the hem. Blue tinted pearls cascaded up the back in intricate patterns. It was a beautiful article of clothing . . . Unfortunately, it was for a tragic day. Harry thought black funeral robes would have been much more fitting than this elegance.  
  
Harry picked the robe up. It was a light silk -- Italian Doupion, Harry smiled. He took off his old robes and threw them carelessly in a pile on the bed. He carefully slipped the blue robe on, fastened up the small pearl buttons, and walked over to his bedroom mirror.  
  
"Beautiful," he thought, examining himself. "Absolutely beautiful." The fabric fell in lavish folds at the bottom of the robe while, around the waist area, it was nicely fitted -- accentuating any assets that Harry Potter might have. It looked charming on him . . . He found himself remembering the words to an old Muggle poem -- "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something . . ."  
  
Harry looked down at the pale blue of the robe. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue." It was an old Muggle poem about weddings. Harry unfastened the pearl buttons as quickly as he could and threw the blue robe on the floor in a fit of furry. He was about to leap on the damned thing and rip it to shreds but . . . This was a gift from Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster wouldn't appreciate walking into Harry's chambers and finding his beautiful (and expensive) gift flung around the room in various pieces. Harry walked over to his bed and hastily put his old robes on.  
  
There was a gentile knock at Harry's door.  
  
"What?" he asked, exasperated. Then he realized that Professor Dumbledore was probably coming to see how Harry liked the present. "I mean, come in."  
  
The door slowly opened and Tom Riddle walked into the room.  
  
"Oh," Harry scowled. "It's you."  
  
"Yes, it's me," Tom said, bitterly. "I was walking through the hallways and I heard a commotion."  
  
"It was nothing . . . Wait, how'd you get into Gryffindor Tower?"  
  
"Please," Tom smirked. "You think I don't know all of the passwords?"  
  
Harry had to smile just a little at this. Of course, Tom would know all of the passwords -- The little sneak.  
  
"Made you smile finally," Tom said with a broad grin. Harry quickly sobered up.  
  
"Why are you here again?" he asked, trying his best to sound annoyed.  
  
"I thought you might be having a problem," Tom said . . . And then his eyes caught the pale blue robe lying in a heap on the ground. He slowly walked over to the pile of fabric and picked it up, straightening out any wrinkles.  
  
"Lovely," he breathed softly. Then louder: "Did Dumbledore give this to you?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said sharply, not wanting to talk about the present. "Don't know why he did though. It's for the binding ceremony."  
  
"Oh . . ." Tom was examining every last crease of the robe, every last pearl. "Put it on."  
  
"That sounds like a command," Harry snapped. "I don't take orders from you."  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. The boy could be so discouraging sometimes. "I was just wondering if you'd put it on. I'd like to see how you look in it."  
  
Harry would have normally protested but the casual smile on Tom's face and the warm glow of his eyes made it nearly irresistible. This once, he just had to give in to the charming Tom Riddle.  
  
"Oh, all right," Harry sighed, walking over to Tom and grabbing the robe out of his hands. "Turn around," Harry ordered. Tom almost put up a fight about that but, in the end, he had to give in to Harry's whims. Harry took off his robes, lying them on the bed and glaring at Tom Riddle to make sure that he wasn't watching. Believing that he would be spending the day by himself, Harry had quickly thrown on his robes this morning, neglecting to put anything on underneath them.  
  
"Come on," Tom pleaded. "Can't I turn around?"  
  
"No," Harry said, almost laughing but holding himself back.  
  
Harry pulled the light blue robe on, fastening up all of the pearl buttons. He straightened himself out in the full-length mirror and then he asked himself why he cared so much about how he looked. After all, it was only Tom Riddle . . .  
  
"Okay, turn around," Harry said.  
  
Tom turned: "Well, this better be worth the wait . . ." and then he just stood there, stunned.  
  
"Um . . ." Tom muttered, completely speechless. "It's . . . well . . . It's breathtaking. You look . . . Absolutely breathtaking, Potter."  
  
Harry's eyes widened in shock. Breathtaking? Had Tom Riddle just said that Harry looked breathtaking? Harry fidgeted nervously, looking for something to say.  
  
"Thanks," he blurted out finally.  
  
"You do now there's a clasp in the back, right?"  
  
Harry hadn't noticed the clasp. He tried reaching behind himself to buckle the thing but Tom Riddle had already made his way behind Harry.  
  
"You probably wouldn't be able to reach it anyway," Tom explained. He buckled up the clasp and then he laid his hands gently on Harry's shoulders.  
  
Harry's mind was going a mile a minute. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy this kind of treatment -- the flattery, the affection, and even the flirting. It was the fact that he couldn't get over the fact that all of this was coming from Lord Voldemort -- The man he had worked so hard, once upon a time, to destroy. This was his sworn archenemy -- Just standing there, waiting for a signal from Harry that it was all right to continue.  
  
Harry did the only thing he could do.  
  
He quickly turned around, shaking Tom's hands off of his shoulders. "Don't," he said, threateningly, and went into an adjoining room, locking the door behind him. 


	11. The Binding Ceremony

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone -- With recognition to Basilisk (Whom I'm sure I torment by not updating often enough) -- Thanks for supporting this piece! And sorry everyone for the slash cliffhanger ending . . . I'll update it tomorrow  
  
Chapter Eleven -- The Binding Ceremony  
  
Harry stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance. He was wearing the light blue robe and his hair was casually brushed over his eyes. He glanced over at the calendar. July 31st -- The binding ceremony and . . . "Happy Sweet Sixteen," Harry said to himself, trying to smile. There was a knock on the door and Dumbledore announced merrily: "My dear boy, we cannot wait forever!" Harry sighed, wishing that they could wait forever. This was it -- The moment of truth, the end of his life as he knew it.  
  
"Well Potter," he said, staring at the reflection in the mirror. "Here we go."  
  
Harry walked briskly out of his room and down the stairs to the Great Hall. Tom was standing outside the double doors, looking exceptionally nervous. Harry smiled. A brief glimpse of humanity in the extremely inhumane Tom Riddle?  
  
"Ready?" Harry asked, trying his best to be amiable.  
  
Tom turned around to look at Harry and his eyes seemed to brighten just a little.  
  
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he smiled. "That pretty much means that I'm not ready at all."  
  
"I'm glad to see we have something is common," Harry said, teetering on the edge of a smile himself. "Well, we can't keep Dumbledore waiting then."  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
Both of them just stood there, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours.  
  
"Tom, Harry!" the call came from inside the Great Hall. Dumbledore was growing a bit impatient.  
  
Harry and Tom glanced at each other awkwardly.  
  
"This is it then," Tom said quietly. "If you want, you can go first."  
  
Harry nodded grimly and opened the large double doors. Dumbledore had obviously worked some enchantments on the Great Hall that morning. The banners had been removed (Tom, the true Slytherin, would have been annoyed with the Gryffindor banners being hung) and lighted candles had been put up in their stead, with light blue and white ribbons streaming from them. White bouquets of flowers sat in the middle of each table, smelling enchanting but making Harry Potter nervous all the same. "God," he thought to himself. "Dumbledore completely overdid it. I feel like I'm going through a wedding." He flinched. He didn't want to think of this ceremony in that light. Dumbledore was trying to make this a romantic occasion -- Probably trying to compensate for the fact that Harry would never have another relationship. Instead of making Harry joyful, it was simply making Harry ill.  
  
Tom followed quickly behind Harry and noticed the sudden hesitation in the young boy. He walked up beside him, grabbed his hand, and gave it a tight squeeze. Harry practically jumped backwards. "What are you doing?" he hissed. Tom just smiled comfortingly at him and held onto his hand, despite any protests.  
  
The two of them reached the front of the Great Hall, where Dumbledore was standing.  
  
"Are you two both ready then?"  
  
Tom and Harry both smiled, though not at each other.  
  
"I will begin. Modus una. Numquam solum. Continuus."  
  
"Is this odd to you?" Harry whispered to Tom.  
  
"What?" Tom asked, looking up to make sure that Dumbledore wouldn't notice them talking during the binding ceremony. Dumbledore was too preoccupied with repeating the scripture -- eyes closed, hands raised -- that he wouldn't have noticed if both Harry and Tom had gotten up and left.  
  
"This whole binding ceremony thing. It seems too . . . I don't know."  
  
"Like a Muggle wedding," Tom said, distastefully.  
  
"Yes!" Harry exclaimed. Tom signaled for him to be quiet and Harry automatically shut his mouth, looking up at Dumbledore. No, the headmaster hadn't heard a word.  
  
"I think Dumbledore's trying to make you happy," Tom said softly.  
  
"This isn't making me happy," Harry scoffed.  
  
"You know that and I know that . . . But he obviously doesn't."  
  
"Being bound . . ." Harry said, cringing at what he was about to say. "Is being bound like getting married?"  
  
Tom thought for a few moments before responding.  
  
"In a lot of ways, it is. There's the romantic implication, there's the complete and utter devotion to one another, there's the commitment to stay together until death . . . In a lot of ways it's not at all like getting married."  
  
"How is it not like getting married?" Harry asked hopefully.  
  
"Because divorce usually follows marriage," Tom snickered. "With binding, there is no divorce."  
  
Harry smiled a little at that but the foreboding reference to being bound together for life sort of ruined the joke. Nonetheless, Harry had to admire the fact that Tom could joke around during a time like this -- A time when both of their lives had been thrown into turmoil. "God," Harry thought to himself. "Do I even know you, Harry James Potter? Finding admirable traits in Lord Voldemort?" Harry looked at Tom who was, in turn, looking at Dumbledore who was getting really wrapped up in the entire ceremony. "No," Harry thought to himself. "Not Lord Voldemort. Admit it, you stopped thinking of him as Lord Voldemort quite a while ago. He's just . . . Tom Riddle. Just former Hogwarts student Tom Riddle . . . And he's not so bad."  
  
"Ingressio amor. Prodigus amor. Obligatus amor." Dumbledore smiled and handed Harry a small gold band. "Oh great," Harry thought. "He's got the rings and everything. Talk about a Muggle wedding ceremony!" Harry looked at Tom, wondering if he was also in possession of a ring. Sure enough, a matching gold band was on his fourth finger.  
  
"Reus." Dumbledore said, lifting his hands over Tom and Harry. The room began getting misty and soon Tom and Harry couldn't see each other anymore. Harry stood there, gripped in anticipation for about five minutes before the fog started to die down. He tried to slip the ring around on his finger but found that it was tightly locked in place. That would have sent him into a state of blind panic except for the fact that Tom quickly reached out and grabbed his hand again, trying to comfort and console.  
  
"That was splendid," Dumbledore said sentimentally. "The binding ceremony is complete."  
  
The binding ceremony is complete. Harry began to sway on his feet and little and soon, the Great Hall, Dumbledore, and Tom Riddle all disappeared into darkness.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry's eyes batted open and the entire world was out of focus. "I don't have my glasses," Harry thought to himself. He felt someone stroking his hair and, looking at the outline of the individual, guessed that it was Tom Riddle.  
  
"You awake?" the individual asked.  
  
Yes, definitely Tom Riddle.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, sitting up in the bed. "Can I have my glasses, please?"  
  
Tom handed Harry the glasses. When he put them on, he was greeted by a spacious chamber -- Far nicer than any of the ones in the student dormitories. In fact, to his knowledge, it was far better than most of the ones that the teachers resided in.  
  
"Lovely room," Harry commented, looking around.  
  
"I know," Tom said. "Not bad. Move over, will you?"  
  
Harry, on instinct, moved over. Tom quickly crawled into the bed next to Harry who bolted up in shock.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait!" Harry shouted. "This is my bed! You need to get out of it right now!"  
  
"Look around," Tom laughed. "There's only one bed."  
  
"Oh god," Harry moaned. "You've got to be kidding me! Only one bed?"  
  
"Yes," Tom replied. "Looks like we're going to have to share."  
  
"No!" Harry exclaimed. "I'd rather sleep on the floor!"  
  
"Suit yourself," Tom smiled. Harry looked down and realized that the floor was hardwood without a rug in sight.  
  
"Forget that," Harry grumbled. He had classes and tests and lessons . . . He couldn't go every night without sleep thanks to the hard-as-a-rock floor. Harry looked over at Tom, ready to demand that he sleep on the floor. He noticed that Tom was gazing at him in a peculiar manner, akin to the way Tom had looked at him in his chambers when he had been wearing the light blue robe. Harry began backing up frantically against the bedposts as Tom began edging forward.  
  
"Oh no," Harry thought to himself. "What's he doing now?" 


	12. Consecration or Not

Author's Notes: Well here's a slashy bit . . . Or is it?  
  
Chapter Twelve -- Consecration or Not  
  
"Have you ever heard of the Muggle tradition of consecrating the relationship?" Tom asked, moving forward so that he was practically on top of Harry.  
  
"What? I mean . . . no . . . I mean yes . . . I mean . . ." Harry stammered, trying to scramble away from Tom.  
  
"Sometimes I think that it's a good idea to stick to traditions," Tom whispered, edging right up against Harry.  
  
"I . . . Wait! Since when did you believe in following Muggle traditions," Harry snapped, shoving Tom as hard as he could but only effectively pushing him back a little.  
  
"Temper, temper," Tom smiled.  
  
"No . . . It's just . . ." Harry sighed. "You're still Lord Voldemort. You still killed my parents. You still tried to kill me numerous times. How on earth do you expect me to . . ." Harry blushed a deep shade of crimson. "Sleep with you?"  
  
"Just forget about it for now," Tom shrugged, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world.  
  
"Forget about it?" Harry said, rolling his eyes. "How do you expect me to forget about it?  
  
"Well, you could start by not thinking so hard and by just enjoying it."  
  
"Enjoying what?"  
  
"This," Tom smiled, leaning forward and, before Harry could protest anymore, pressed his lips against Harry's. Harry automatically tensed up underneath Tom and scrunched his eyes shut. Tom flicked his tongue against Harry's mouth but Harry still didn't react. He just lay there, completely petrified. Tom finally lifted his head up.  
  
"Well, that wasn't exactly how I pictured the first kiss going," Tom sighed. He got up from the bed and walked over to the bookshelf to examine the selection.  
  
"And how exactly did you picture it going?" Harry said, bitterly. "That you would kiss me and I would kiss you back? That everything would be put behind us and I'd give in to your every wanton need?"  
  
"My 'every wanton need?'" Tom scoffed, opening up a volume on mythical beasts. "You've been reading too many romance novels."  
  
"Have not," Harry scowled. A long awkward pause fell over the couple. Harry was the one to break it. "Tom," he said pensively. "Why don't you hold any grudges against me like I do against you?"  
  
Tom closed the book he was reading and looked at Harry.  
  
"I just don't see the point," Tom said simply. "We can hold grudges all we want but, in the end, it's not going to get us anywhere. If we could both just loosen up and learn to enjoy this, it would be a vast improvement. After all, we were bound for a reason . . ."  
  
"You've been listening to Dumbledore too much," Harry grumbled.  
  
"Well it's true, isn't it?" Tom asked, matter-of-factly.  
  
"I s'ppose," Harry said, trying to find the logic in the situation. Tom put the volume back onto the shelf and walked back over to the bed. He sat down next to Harry and began stroking his hair again.  
  
"Now just relax . . ." Tom said, softly. Harry automatically tensed up but, with some coaxing from Tom, he eventually laid his head against Tom's chest.  
  
"I can be very persuasive, you see," Tom whispered and Harry began to curl up against him. Tom was going to try and push Harry further but then he noticed the snoring coming from his chest.  
  
Harry Potter had fallen fast asleep.  
  
"Shouting one moment, sleeping the next," Tom smiled, leaning up against the headboard. "What am I going to do with you, Potter?"  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
"So . . . Are we sharing the bed again?" Harry shouted into the bathroom. Tom was taking a shower and Harry wanted to make sure that he could be heard. It was August 1st -- The second night that Tom and Harry were sharing a set of chambers.  
  
"Unless you want to sleep on the floor," Tom yelled back. Harry heard the water stop and, after a few moments, a very wet, very disheveled Tom Riddle came out of the bathroom in a pair of damp silk pajamas.  
  
"Do you know what a towel is?" Harry smiled.  
  
"Move over," Tom laughed as Harry moved onto "his side of the bed." Tom eased under the covers and they both lay there for a while in silence.  
  
"So what did you do today?" Tom asked, as he was accustomed to.  
  
"Not much," Harry stated. "I worked some more on that potions project. I'm getting really good at sleeping draughts."  
  
"Remind me to teach you how to cast a Dark Orb."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dark Orbs. If you show your next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that you can cast one, I guarantee that you'll have the highest marks in the class."  
  
"Really . . ." Harry said, seeing one of the perks of living with Tom Riddle. He turned over to look at the boy lying next to him. Tom's hair fell in wet strands over his eyes. He was smiling brightly at Harry. "You do look charming," Harry yawned.  
  
"Oh, so I'm charming now! I remember a couple weeks ago when I was a 'horrible, miserable, disgusting thing.'"  
  
"Well, you're still all that," Harry said, smiling sleepily. "Now you're just a horrible, miserable, disgusting, charming . . . attractive thing."  
  
"Thanks," Tom said.  
  
The tension between the two boys was palpable yet neither one of them was willing to take the initiative. They both just lay there, looking at each other. Tom hesitantly reached his hand out and stroked Harry's cheek. Harry closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.  
  
"What are you doing Potter?" Harry asked himself. "He's touching you, you're obviously enjoying it. So much for being completely straight. But . . . God, why am I so nervous? He's just touching me. It's not like we're getting ready to fuck or anything."  
  
"Um Tom?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How far are you planning on taking this . . . tonight?"  
  
"Only as far as you want to," Tom replied, gently.  
  
"Oh," Harry said. He quickly turned over in bed so that Tom couldn't touch him anymore. "Good night then, Tom."  
  
Tom sighed in bitter defeat.  
  
"Good night Harry."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry turned over in bed and found that Tom had long since fallen asleep. The boy's eyelashes were fluttering up and down with ever breath, his frail form rising and falling. "This is the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort?" Harry thought to himself looking at the sweet boy lying next to him. "He just looks so . . . innocent." Harry reached out a hand and touched a strand of Tom's hair. It was still a little damp from the shower but the touch sent shivers down Harry's spine -- As if he was indulging in the forbidden. He moved his hand down to Tom's face and stroked his cheek tenderly. Hand moved down Tom's face to the side of his neck and down his neck to his chest. Hand came to rest on Tom's chest -- feeling the boy breathing. It lulled Harry a bit.  
  
Tom's eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Harry.  
  
"Hey," he sighed.  
  
His eyes lowered as he realized that Harry's hand was resting on his chest.  
  
"Should we try that kiss again?" Tom asked, smiling. "We can call the first attempt null and void if you want."  
  
Harry nodded his head without even thinking. As a normal sixteen-year- old boy, his hormones were raging.  
  
Tom slowly leaned over to Harry whose breaths were slightly labored now. He slowly pressed his lips against the younger boy's. Tom pushed his tongue gently against the barrier and, after a moment of hesitation, Harry's lips parted slightly. Tom's tongue immediately slipped into Harry's mouth and slowly Harry began to respond -- his tongue meeting the other boy's and fondling it gently. Tom's arms twined around Harry's waist. The kiss wasn't anything magnificently beautiful to Harry but it was passionate and warm and, in Harry's opinion, it was over far too soon. Tom drew back first, taking a deep breath, and rubbing Harry's back soothingly.  
  
"What have I done?" Harry asked -- More to the abyss than to Tom. Tom just pulled him a little closer and told him to be quiet and try to get some sleep.  
  
Author's Note: Believe it or not, although I've written plenty of slash fiction, that's the first kiss I've ever written . . . 


	13. Dark Orbs

Author's Note: Tom attempts to play Quidditch . . .  
  
Chapter Thirteen -- Dark Orbs  
  
Harry waved his wand and said with utmost confidence: "Acerbus Digressus." For the fifth time in a row, nothing happened.  
  
"Damn," Harry said through clenched teeth.  
  
"Cursing isn't going to make it any better," Tom said, looking up from his reading at the struggling Harry Potter.  
  
"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this Dark Orb thing," Harry said, slumping down into the chair opposite Tom. "Maybe I'm just not powerful enough to be doing this."  
  
"Nonsense," Tom smiled, leaning over and tucking a loose strand of hair behind Harry's ear. "If I can do it, then you definitely can. Get up and try it again."  
  
Harry got up, and walked to the center of the room. "Acerbus Digressus," he sighed half-heartedly.  
  
"Now, you're not even trying," Tom said, putting down his book and rising to his feet. He quickly made his way behind Harry Potter, wrapping one hand around the boy's wrist and the other around his waist -- In a "purely academic way." "Maybe the problem's in your hand work," Tom stated, nodding his head toward the boy's wand. "Holly, eleven inches, single phoenix feather . . ."  
  
"Don't start blaming this all on my wand," Harry laughed. "Remember: You have the other feather."  
  
"I never said your wand was the problem" Tom stated. "Here . . ." He adjusted the wand in Harry's hand. "Now say the incantation again . . ."  
  
As Harry said "Acerbus Digressus" again, Tom swished the wand in a figure eight -- First to the right, then swooping back towards the left. Suddenly, about an inch away from the tip of the wand, a red ball of light appeared. It was a small orb, no bigger than a Golden Snitch, but it was an orb all the same.  
  
"I did it!" Harry exclaimed, about ready to turn to Tom.  
  
"Keep eye contact," Tom scolded, releasing the boy. "Now walk backwards and beckon it to follow you." Harry began slowly making his way backwards, waving his wand in a summoning motion. The orb followed him obediently. "That's it," Tom said. "Now wave your wand again, like I showed you the first time, and say 'Levitas Natus.'"  
  
Harry took a deep breath and waved the wand stating "Levitas Natus." In a flash, the orb spread out -- Red light filling the room. Then, before Harry knew what was going on, the red light contracted again and the orb disappeared.  
  
"What was that?" Harry asked, startled.  
  
"A sure-fire way to protect yourself from the Dark Arts," Tom replied, walking over to where Harry was standing. "Dark Orbs are mysterious things. Few people know about them but they're one of the most powerful spells available. A Dark Orb can ward off any Unforgivable Curse, rendering Dark Wizards practically powerless over you. But you have to be quick." Tom stepped backwards, pulling out his yew wand from inside his robe. He muttered the incantations, waved his wand a few times, and, without three seconds, the Dark Orb had appeared, spread, and disappeared.  
  
"You're good," Harry gulped, wondering how he could measure up to Tom. Tom Riddle was magnificently gifted and extremely dedicated. Despite the fact that Tom had insisted that Dumbledore didn't favor him in the least, the headmaster seemed to have taken a particular shine to his old student. Harry couldn't deny that he felt just a twinge of envy towards his former archenemy. Tom was everything that anyone could ever hope to become: Brilliant, charming, talented, powerful, charismatic, and exceptionally beautiful.  
  
Tom smiled his thanks at Harry before quickly saying, "You're better." Then he asked, to change the subject, "Does the school session still begin on September 1st?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, sitting down momentarily. He didn't want to be reminded of the time when he'd have to tell his friends.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Tom said, gently laying his hand on top of Harry's.  
  
"Well, the fact that you're Lord Voldemort doesn't make this situation any easier," Harry said quickly and Tom glared at him.  
  
"I thought I told you to forget about that."  
  
"Just because I'm working hard at forgetting about it doesn't mean that all of my friends will," Harry stated simply.  
  
"Just don't worry about it."  
  
"Sure," Harry said, just wanting to forget about his friends for the time being. He'd worry about them when September 1st came. "Has Dumbledore recruited you for his 'projects' yet?" Harry asked with an obvious show of interest.  
  
"Not yet," Tom sighed. "But when he does, I'm not sure if I'll be able to discuss them with you."  
  
"Come on!" Harry insisted. "We're bound. That means that you can't keep secrets."  
  
"Sorry Potter," Tom smirked, leaning back in his chair. "But this is a secret I might have to keep. After all, it doesn't really involve you. It's a grown-up thing."  
  
"Oi!" Harry shouted, shoving Tom playfully.  
  
"You know, when you tease a person, it usually means that you like them," Tom said with a blatantly flirtatious overtone. It wasn't a rare thing for Tom to take on a flirtatious, wanton nature during conversations but it always made Harry uncomfortable and incredibly aware of the inevitable loss of his virginity.  
  
"Um . . . yeah," Harry said, rising to his feet. "I better go and finish my transfiguration project. After all, I want to get ahead for the new school year."  
  
"I suppose," Tom sighed, thwarted once again.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry crossed off August 30th on his calendar. It was August 31st now -- One more day until the dreaded September 1st, the day when the Hogwarts school session would begin again. Tom looked up from the bed to see Harry wracked with nervousness.  
  
"Come over here," he sighed, sprawling out on the bed.  
  
"No." Tom noticed the slight tremor in Harry's voice. He stood up and walked over to the young boy.  
  
"Tell you what," he said, taking Harry by the hand. "I'm going to go get dressed, I suggest you do the same, and then we'll both go out for a walk."  
  
"I don't really feel like walking," Harry said, extremely melancholy.  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. "Fine. You get dressed. I'll get dressed. Grab your broomstick and we'll do a little Quidditch practice."  
  
Harry's eyes lit up a bit. "Quidditch practice? I didn't know you played Quidditch!"  
  
"I don't," Tom muttered. "I hated the game. Sounds odd for prefect and head boy, doesn't it?" Harry nodded in agreement. "But if you really want, I'll help you practice a little. After all, you are the famed Gryffindor seeker."  
  
Harry smiled proudly. "Meet me on the Quidditch field in fifteen minutes."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry waited on the Quidditch field for Tom. The wind was surprisingly nippy for a day in late August and Harry had draped a scarf around his neck to keep from catching cold. He looked over the horizon to see Tom, walking over the hill in one of the traditional Slytherin school robes with a worn out broomstick.  
  
"That's right," Harry grinned. "I forgot that you were a Slytherin. I'll have an exceptionally wonderful time beating you then."  
  
"I have no doubt you will," Tom declared modestly. "I don't play Quidditch."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Tell me you can at least mount a broomstick."  
  
"I said I don't play Quidditch," Tom said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't say that I was completely incompetent." Tom mounted his broomstick gracefully and soared off to circle the Quidditch field.  
  
"Coming?" he yelled down to Harry.  
  
"You're good on a broom," Harry shouted up to Tom, quite impressed with his form. Harry released the Golden Snitch he had brought with him, quickly mounted his broomstick, and flew over to meet Tom.  
  
"Whoever catches the Snitch first definitely has the better house!" Harry exclaimed and both Harry and Tom took off after the Snitch. Tom was a decent Quidditch player, despite the fact that he loathed the game and he had avoided playing it at all costs. At least he wasn't a complete failure like Neville.  
  
Harry and Tom moved closer together in the race for the Snitch. "It's so close," Harry thought to himself, reaching out quickly to grab the thing. Unfortunately, while reaching out, Harry knocked Tom who quickly lost his balance. Tom fell off of his broom and onto the ground below with an unhealthy thud. Harry looked down at Tom who slowly got to his feet, rubbing the back of his head and grimacing.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said holding up the Golden Snitch, "But Gryffindors are definitely the best." 


	14. The Trouble with Tom Riddle

Chapter Fourteen -- The Trouble with Tom Riddle  
  
Harry checked himself in the mirror for the twentieth time that morning. The carriages were bound to pull up in front of Hogwarts at any moment with his classmates and he wanted to be prepared. He looked smart in his crisp black robes -- "Neatly put together," he thought. "And fairly attractive."  
  
Then Tom Riddle walked out of the adjoining bathroom.  
  
Ebony hair lazily falling into his face, smoky crimson eyes, aquiline nose. He was wearing a black robe similar to Harry's with a hunter green band tied around his waist and knotted at the side, falling down into two long strands trimmed with gold fringe. A green cloak was draped over his shoulders with a golden buckle holding it in place. Forget fairly attractive, Tom Riddle was positively beautiful -- A vision in Slytherin green.  
  
"You look nice," Tom said, looking Harry up and down.  
  
"Nice," Harry scoffed, somewhat disappointed. "You look positively radiant."  
  
"Thanks," Tom smiled. He noticed Harry's downcast eyes. "You really do look nice, Harry. You just look a little too plain. But I can fix that."  
  
Tom quickly walked over to the bureau.  
  
"If it involves the color green, I don't want to know about it," Harry huffed. Hell would freeze over before the day Harry Potter would be seen in Slytherin colors. Tom picked a box up from the bottom of the wardrobe and handed it to Harry.  
  
"I bought this for you a couple days ago," he stated, beaming in anticipation.  
  
Harry quickly opened the box and found a red, full-length cloak with gold lining and a shiny gold buckle.  
  
"I know how much you love clothing," Tom grinned. "Go ahead. Try it on."  
  
Harry flung the robe over his shoulder, hastily buckling it. He walked over and looking in the mirror. It made what was before "neatly put together" and "fairly attractive" look positively elegant. The fabric swooshed around his feet and Harry twirled around delightedly.  
  
"The way to a man's heart is through is wardrobe," Tom laughed, examining the beaming Harry. As if on cue, Harry ran over to Tom and kissed him, quickly but firmly, on the lips.  
  
"My, have you warmed up to me!" Tom exclaimed, looking at the ecstatic Harry. "I'm sorry that this, once again, has to be a beautiful article of clothing for a grim occasion."  
  
Harry frowned. His friends. Tom noticed Harry's glum expression and gave him a long, lasting kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry, Harry," he said, softly. "Everything will be just like it's always been . . . After a while, at least."  
  
"You're so infinitely patient with me," Harry said, looking up wide- eyed at Tom. "I would never have guessed that you could be so sweet and kind and gentile and loving and . . ."  
  
"Stop naming off my few good qualities," Tom said, rubbing Harry's cheek. "You'll run out of them soon enough. Don't forget: I'm the extremely evil Dark Lord who, behind this façade of beauty, charm, and grace, is nothing more than a snake-like monster who enjoys killing Muggles and torturing defiant wizards."  
  
It was a hard snap back to reality for Harry but he still didn't pull away from Tom's gentile touch.  
  
"I thought you wanted me to forget about that," Harry said harshly.  
  
"I know," Tom said, pulling Harry into his arms.  
  
Tom knew perfectly well what was happening. Harry Potter was beginning to fall in love with the charming, good-natured, attractive Tom Riddle. "Well, he can't do that," Tom thought to himself. Tom, while being extremely congenial and loving towards Harry, still felt a certain burden of guilt. The knowledge that, for sixteen years, Tom had made this boy's life a living hell haunted him. He couldn't be too happy in this relationship. It wasn't good for him. It wasn't good for the boy. They could talk. They could cuddle. They could certainly fuck. But they definitely couldn't love each other.  
  
"Well, at least you can screw him," Tom thought pulling the boy a little bit closer.  
  
"God Tom . . ." Harry said, resting his head on Tom's shoulder.  
  
"So, if everything goes well," Tom whispered into the boy's ear. "Do you think that tonight could be the night?" Tom gently thrust his hips against Harry's, causing the boy to falter backwards a little.  
  
"Um . . ." Harry hesitated. "Well," he thought to himself. "You're going to have to do it sometime." He looked up at Tom who was waiting expectantly. "But not tonight . . ."  
  
"Give it a week," Harry said, smiling apologetically at Tom. "Today's going to be emotionally draining as it is. I don't think I'll have the strength in me to let you . . ." Harry trailed off, once again blushing deeply. Tom nodded in understanding.  
  
"Fine then," he sighed. "We'll give it a week and see what happens."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry and Tom rushed down the stairs together and heard plenty of noise coming from the Great Hall.  
  
"Oh great," Harry moaned. "We've missed the Sorting Ceremony and Dumbledore's 'beginning of the year' speech!"  
  
"Who missed them?" Tom murmured under his breath and Harry glared at him.  
  
"Well, I guess it's now or never," Harry said nervously.  
  
"Right," Tom said. "Do you want to go first or should I?"  
  
"I'll go first," Harry said boldly.  
  
"That's Gryffindor courage coming through," Tom said, smiling proudly at the young boy before him. "One of your more commendable traits."  
  
Harry nodded and smiled in return and opened the large set of double doors.  
  
Tom sighed. Harry needed to have his confidence built up now. He certainly was going to have it ripped apart within the next couple hours.  
  
Harry and Tom both marched into the Great Hall and, in a few moments, the entire room fell silent. Tom felt extremely relieved when he realized that everyone was staring at Harry Potter. Everyone, that is, except for one girl with bright red hair sitting over at the Gryffindor table who looked oddly familiar to Tom. She stood up and threw her cup down on the table, causing water to spill all over the place.  
  
"Ginny Weasley," Harry groaned.  
  
"Do I know her?" Tom asked, completely puzzled as to where he knew this girl from.  
  
"She found your diary a couple of years ago," Harry answered. Tom's eyes automatically became a little wider and he began nervously fidgeting with his cape.  
  
"Oh," Tom said, shocked. "I had pretty much forgotten about that diary. I just . . ."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "I'll take care of Ginny." Then he added sarcastically, "She's probably just pleased to see you." That earned Harry a definite scowl from Tom.  
  
Dumbledore stood up and raised his chalice.  
  
"Oh no," Harry said under his breath. "Dumbledore's going to give one of his toasts. Well, if people didn't know who you were before, there's a ninety-nine percent chance that they're going to know after this one."  
  
"I would like to propose a toast," Dumbledore said, brightly. "To Harry James Potter and Thomas Marvolo Riddle . . ."  
  
Tom and Harry both shuddered at the whispers that went up around them. Harry noticed the Hermione and Ron's jaws quickly dropped open in blatant surprise.  
  
"We are very lucky to have Tom with us at Hogwarts for the next two years," Dumbledore continued. "He is an exceptionally fine wizard and has specialized throughout the years in the Dark Arts."  
  
"Severe understatement," Tom said, loudly enough so that everyone could hear. "Professor Dumbledore, can't you just get it out of the way? I don't want to have this gradually broken to people. Just tell them all now."  
  
Harry was taken aback by this. "Maybe you should have been a Gryffindor," Harry said to Tom, "Because that's courage if I ever saw it."  
  
"Tom, you would rather not have your past haunting you through your career here at Hogwarts?" Tom shook his head. "A reasonable and admirable request. I shall be straightforward and blunt with it then. Tom was once infamous throughout the world as the great Lord Voldemort."  
  
Author's Note: Once again, my apologies for the cliffhanger ending -- It's 3:58 AM though and it's time for all good Slytherin girls to be going to bed . . . Good night everyone and I'll update tomorrow 


	15. The Trouble with Lord Voldemort

Author's Note: Once again, my apologies for yesterday's cliffhanger ending. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who demanded that I write more.  
  
Chapter Fifteen -- The Trouble with Lord Voldemort  
  
A threatening hush fell over the Great Hall and Harry swore that he heard some utensils drop to the floor. Everyone just sat there, staring at them in shock. Tom pulled himself together quickly but Harry remained shuffling his feet nervously and keeping his eyes deadlocked on the ground.  
  
"You make it sound so much more prestigious than it actually is," Tom said, smiling at Professor Dumbledore bitterly. "But I didn't want this subject to be surrounded by rumors and speculation. Here and now, the facts are given. I was once Lord Voldemort, the great Dark Lord. Due to rather odd circumstances, I have come to Hogwarts to reside for the next two years. That is all that I will say for now," Tom walked up to the front of the Great Hall, Harry quickly running to catch up with him.  
  
"You're not going to tell him about us then?" Harry whispered harshly to Tom.  
  
"Not unless you want me to. Telling my own secrets I have the complete right to do but this is a secret that we share. I cannot divulge it at my own will."  
  
Harry sighed. "I don't have your courage and conviction, I'm afraid. I'll let people gradually come to it."  
  
"Tom," Dumbledore called, beckoning to the boy. "Come here for a moment, won't you?"  
  
"Be right back," Tom smiled at Harry, walking up to the staff table where Dumbledore stood. Harry was left alone, at the front of the Great Hall. He just stood there -- not really sure where he should sit, not really sure what he should say. So he just stood there.  
  
"Tom, my dear boy," Dumbledore said gently. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry -- Just for today. I'm afraid that the boy might need some moral support and you're the one best suited to give it to him."  
  
"The Gryffindor table?" Tom said distastefully.  
  
"I know that you're the heir of Slytherin, Tom," Dumbledore smiled. "But think of the boy."  
  
Tom glanced over at Harry who was just standing there, not sure to what to do. Tom didn't even bother responding to Dumbledore, he just walked straight over to Harry.  
  
"Don't be so nervous," Tom whispered to the boy. "I'm sitting with you today."  
  
"You do realize that you're going to get completely trashed at the Gryffindor table, don't you?" Harry laughed.  
  
"Yes but . . ." Tom gave Harry a quick pat on the back. "You might need me."  
  
Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table, the room was still in that sublime hush. He slowly sat down next to Hermione (Ron sat next to her) and Tom sat at the end, next to Harry.  
  
"So Hermione," Harry said softly, not wanting to disrupt the stillness of the moment. Unfortunately, his few words to Hermione and the entire Great Hall burst into noise -- A lot of constrained whispers, pointing, blatant staring, and some fairly harsh comments. "I guess I can tell you the details of that binding spell now."  
  
It took the brilliant Hermione Granger a few seconds to put two and two together.  
  
"Him?" she squeaked. "You're bound to him?"  
  
"Excuse me," Ron said harshly. "But have I missed something here?"  
  
"You've missed a lot," Hermione said, edgily, to Ron. She turned her line of questioning back to Harry, "But . . . I thought that you were supposed to be bound to the person in the world who is most complementary to you?"  
  
"I guess I am," Harry said, smiling awkwardly. Tom automatically brightened up a little.  
  
"But you . . . but he . . ." Hermione stuttered out. "But he's evil! How can you, the kind and brave Harry Potter, be bound to someone who's so extremely evil?"  
  
"You just don't know him," Harry said, waving off her comments.  
  
"I love it when people talk about me like I'm not here," Tom sighed, picking up a glass of water and saying "Vinum" with a quick flick of his wand. Harry glanced at him disapprovingly.  
  
"What?" Tom asked incredulously. "I need a drink."  
  
"What's this whole thing about binding?" Ron asked, puzzled by the entire situation.  
  
"I'll explain it to you," she said, turning away with a scowl at Tom.  
  
"My Lord . . . Tom . . ." Tom suddenly heard the very familiar voice behind him and turned around. There, looming over him, was Severus Snape. "If there is anything that I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask."  
  
"I won't Severus," Tom said, trying to sound cold towards his former Death Eater. "Although I don't know why you're volunteering your services so readily though. After all, you are a despicable traitor whom I am ashamed to say I know." He smiled suddenly. "'Those who cannot do, teach.' Have you ever heard that expression, Severus?"  
  
Severus flinched but knelt down before Tom. He whispered quickly, "Please try to be gentile with the young Potter child, my Lord. I fear for his well-being at your hands."  
  
Tom smiled but, at the back of his mind, he felt the harsh truth of this statement.  
  
"How compassionate of you Severus," he said, with the slightest hint of respect. "And how brave of you to be so honest with me. I guarantee you that you have nothing to worry about. Mister Potter is perfectly safe in his current situation."  
  
"Thank you my Lord," Severus said, slightly skeptical. He got up and rejoined the rest of the faculty.  
  
Harry had meanwhile turned his attentions to Ron and Hermione. Hermione had finished explaining the binding ceremony to Ron and Ron just sat there -- staring at Harry and trying to understand.  
  
"So you're bound to . . . Lord Voldemort?" Ron asked with an air of disbelief. "My god, Harry! That's absolutely awful! I'm so incredibly sorry!"  
  
"Don't be," Harry laughed. "It's not as bad as you probably think it is."  
  
"Not bad!" Ron scoffed. "You two have only been archenemies since the beginning of time! How on earth could it not be that bad?" Ron leaned over to whisper to Harry so that Tom couldn't hear. "He did kill your parents, Harry. You've been living in fear of him your entire life." Harry fidgeted nervously. "He's a monster, Harry," Ron said softly. "He's a downright monster and he can't stay here."  
  
"Don't have a choice," Harry shrugged. "You have to make the best of the situation, not the worst."  
  
"You are far too optimistic," Ron said, taking a piece of roast beef from the center of the table. "Far too optimistic. It's not natural."  
  
"You know, Harry," Hermione said, trying to be the voice of reason. "This isn't just something that effects you. All of the students are going to have to live with the fact that Lord Voldemort is residing at the school. It's going to make some people very uncomfortable. I have no doubt that some parents are going to withdraw their children from Hogwarts and send them to other schools. I, personally, wouldn't feel safe."  
  
"I know . . ." Harry said, sadly.  
  
"People aren't just going to be putting the guard up against Tom. Once they find out that you're bound to him, well, they might put their guard up against you too. I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of people you thought were your friends shun you."  
  
Fear suddenly leaped up within Harry. "You wouldn't do anything like that, would you Hermione? Ron?"  
  
"Oh no," Hermione said, shaking her head avidly. "I know you much too well. I know that you would never fall into Dark Wizardry."  
  
"I'd never just leave you," Ron added. "But I might avoid you a little, when you're with him." Ron indicated Tom with a quick nod of his head.  
  
"I understand," Harry smiled.  
  
"I just don't want you to get hurt," Hermione explained.  
  
Harry nodded. Tom had been right. His friends were so sympathetic that things would undoubtedly go back to normal with them after a while.  
  
"Well, well, well. Tom Riddle has come to Hogwarts."  
  
The four of them quickly turned around to face the young boy with the silver eyes.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
Author's Note: My apologies -- This is sort of a cliffhanger too (But at least it's not as bad as the one I wrote last night) -- In honor of the New Year, I'll update sometime before 2002 (Promise) 


	16. Malfoy

Author's Note: So sorry for breaking my promise (I don't usually do that, for the record) but my mother wanted me to spend New Year's Eve with her in a seven-hour long movie marathon -- Couldn't turn her down, could I? Besides, we brought the New Year in by going to the 10:00 to 12:30 showing of "Harry Potter"  
  
Happy Birthday Juliana Black! This chapter is completely dedicated to you! (By the way, this chapter was mostly written on popular demand from all of you reviewers)  
  
Chapter Sixteen -- Malfoy  
  
"You must be Lucius' son," Tom said quickly, rising to his feet. "I don't believe you have any business with me, seeing as we all know what your father is planning."  
  
Draco looked a little taken aback by this but remained standing in front of Tom.  
  
"I assure you, Lord Voldemort, that I have no idea what you're talking about. I simply came over here to bid you welcome . . . my Lord."  
  
Draco bowed elegantly before Tom who was not amused in the least.  
  
"Enchanted," Tom said with blatant sarcasm. "I'm sure. Now, if you don't mind Draco Malfoy, I'm currently having a conversation with some friends of mine." Tom looked at Harry, Hermione, and Ron -- signaling that they were the so-called "friends."  
  
"Friends?" Draco scoffed. "You don't mean these . . . these . . . people, do you? I mean, Ron Weasley over there is as poor as dirt and has about the same level of class." Ron scowled at Draco and started to get out of his seat but Hermione held him down. "He wears hand me down robes, for God's sake," Draco laughed. "And Hermione Granger is just another Mudblood. She had absolutely no breeding whatsoever. I don't even know why they let her into this school." Hermione almost let Ron take out his aggressions on Malfoy but her maturity made her keep a close grip on the redhead. "And Potter . . . God, he's the worse. He's a complete show-off and everyone knows that the teachers all favor him. That's the only way Gryffindor won the house cup the first year, you know. Because Dumbledore favored him and gave Gryffindor extra points for good merit. The entire thing was outrageous! Potter has nothing going for him except one little incident that happened when he was a baby, marking him as 'The Boy who Lived.' But you didn't need me to tell you that . . ."  
  
"No I didn't," Tom said fiercely. "Mister Malfoy, I suggest you sit down right now before you say something that you might regret."  
  
Draco obviously wasn't paying attention to Tom since he continued on about Harry's exploits.  
  
"Just a stupid, good-for-nothing tramp without a family. Maybe if his parents had been anything more than complete cowards, they might have lasted the night. But, no, they didn't even have the strength to stand up for themselves. Cowards! Weaklings and cowards, the lot of them! And then Harry walks in here with his bravado and a little scratch on his forehead and suddenly he's Boy of the Year, stealing the spotlight from those who truly deserve it and . . ."  
  
Before Draco could say another word, he found a wand pointed directly at him.  
  
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, genuinely confused.  
  
"When you called him a show-off, I might have understood your envy," Tom explained. "When you called him a good-for-nothing tramp, you irritated me to the extreme. But when you suggest that you deserve the fame and the glory more than Harry Potter, that you are somehow more worthy, that's when I'm tempted to do things that I'll probably end up regretting in the morning."  
  
Draco suddenly looked extremely frightened and backed up against one of the wooden tables.  
  
"You are so lucky that I'm here at Hogwarts under Professor Dumbledore's watch," Tom said softly. "Otherwise I would place an Unforgivable Curse on you faster than you can say 'Dark Mark.'" Tom smiled. "Or faster than you can say 'My father's a disgraceful traitor.'"  
  
Draco stood there -- mouth gaped open, completely speechless. "My . . . my . . . father . . . well . . . I" he stuttered, not so sure how to respond to this sudden attack on his heritage.  
  
"Get out of my sight, Draco," Tom said simply. "I don't wish to speak with you any more at the moment. But if I ever do call on you . . ." Tom moved threateningly close to the quivering Draco Malfoy. "If I ever do call on you, I expect you to drop whatever you are doing and come immediately. Do you understand? I've killed many people, Draco. You would be just one more dash to the tally. Do you understand me?"  
  
Draco nodded his head, quaking in fear. "I understand, my Lord."  
  
"Good," Tom smiled. "Now go."  
  
Draco didn't hesitate in running back over to where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting and quickly sliding into place. Tom sat down next to Harry, a look of extreme pride on his face.  
  
"Not bad," Harry said, beaming at Tom. "Certainly told him off them, didn't you?"  
  
"Well, I couldn't let him say those things about . . ." Tom trailed off looking at the exquisite young boy sitting before him. "Well, I couldn't let him say those things about you," Tom finished meekly.  
  
Harry looked utterly shocked. He had thought that Tom had just been using Harry as an excuse to mouth off to Draco Malfoy -- After all, Lucius was about to betray Tom and take over his forces. Harry had thought that Tom was just feeling hostile about losing his power.  
  
"You fought Draco . . . for me?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing that he sounded like a love-struck teenage girl. "I'm sorry," he laughed, shaking his head. "It's just . . . That really means a lot to me. You might be a Slytherin but you're not all that bad."  
  
"I believe it was once said that there wasn't a wizard who'd gone bad that wasn't in Slytherin," Tom said sagely. "But that doesn't necessarily mean that there wasn't a wizard in Slytherin who hadn't gone bad."  
  
"What?" Ron had gotten confused a while ago with the wording of the statement.  
  
Harry nodded in understanding though. "I knew I liked you for a reason," Tom said, gently ruffling the boy's hair a little. Harry heard a gasp come from a table from across the room.  
  
"Hufflepuff," Tom and Harry both laughed at once and then looked at each other awkwardly.  
  
"My god," Hermione exclaimed. "You two really are complementary! Look at that! You finish each other's sentences and everything!" She got up and walked over to Tom Riddle. "In that case, my name's Hermione Granger and if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask." She took his hand and shook it firmly. "And I wish you both the best of luck."  
  
Hermione walked back to her seat. Tom stared at Harry in a state of extreme shock.  
  
"Can we go back to our chambers now?" It was more of a request than a question Harry realized.  
  
"Wait, you're not rooming with us anymore?" Ron asked.  
  
"Um, no," Harry said, getting to his feet and dragging Tom along behind him. "I'll explain it to you later Ron. See you sometime, if not tonight, tomorrow then!"  
  
And Harry and Tom walked briskly out of the Great Hall without even finished their breakfast.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
"I'm sorry," Tom sighed when they had gotten back to the chambers. "It's just . . . I didn't expect her to be so understanding about the entire thing. She caught me off my guard."  
  
"Who? Hermione?" Harry laughed. "I wasn't expecting her to be quite so hospitable but I thought that, if anyone would get over the shock quickly, it would be Hermione. She already had read all about the binding spells so she knows the circumstances of the situation. She's very rational . . . She probably just realized that we belong together."  
  
"And you believe that?" Tom asked.  
  
"Believe what?"  
  
"That we belong together?"  
  
Harry blushed deeply. "Well, if we're bound together, I suppose we do belong together then. Besides, we seem to get along perfectly well and long as we forget some things . . ."  
  
"And ignore some others," Tom added in agreement.  
  
"Exactly. I don't mind you at all, Tom Riddle."  
  
"You give in too easily," Tom smiled.  
  
"Not at all," Harry laughed. "I spent a good percentage of my summer vacation sitting in my room weeping and brooding. I don't give in easily. I'm just too tired to keep up a fight that I can't win."  
  
"Is that all I am to you?" Tom scoffed. "A fight that you can't win?"  
  
"In some ways," Harry responded, honestly. "In other ways, you're a friend, a confident, a teacher, a partner . . ."  
  
"A lover?" Tom asked, hopefully.  
  
"You'll never give up, will you?" Harry laughed. He quickly returned to the seriousness of the conversation though. "Someday I'll regard you as a lover. Someday soon."  
  
Author's Note: There's the New Year's chapter at 2:20 AM -- Sorry once again and Happy 2002 everyone! 


	17. The Sweetest Boy

Author's Note: Hi right back at you Tom! (Basilisk knows what I mean) - BTW: I was up until 5:00 AM finishing off this chapter so I hope that everyone's happy with it . . .  
  
Chapter Seventeen -- The Sweetest Boy  
  
Tom Riddle lay in bed, staring at Harry Potter. "The sweetest boy," Tom thought to himself. Harry's long dark bangs fell into his eyes, whisking away when he exhaled. Everything about him was fine -- From his slender nose to his thin lips to his frail form. The sweetest boy, the purest boy -- The sleeping virgin, eyes closed gently against the rest of the world.  
  
"But also the battered boy," Tom thought to himself. "The scarred boy, the hurting boy, the boy who has learned to live in fear . . . The boy who lived." Tom suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic. The entire world seemed to be caving in on him -- Him with his guilt and his sorrow and his ambition and his love . . . "No," he whispered defiantly. "Never love." Tom jumped out of the bed, pulled on a bathrobe, and left the chambers. He walked down the hallways -- Cold, uneven stone underneath his bare feet.  
  
"You cannot sleep Tom?" Dumbledore asked. Tom jumped and spun around to look at the old man who had taken up residence in a chair outside of his office. "I cannot either, my dear boy. Do you want to unburden your problems?"  
  
"I . . . I would appreciate that," Tom said, sitting down in a chair next to Dumbledore.  
  
"Tom, my dear boy, your resistance has grown weak," Dumbledore smiled. "A few weeks ago you would have told me to mind my own business. I am glad for this weakness in you."  
  
"Weakness," Tom repeated, his voice breathy. "I am not the man I used to be, am I? Can I really have changed so much in such a short period of time? Is it possible?"  
  
"It is possible," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder and playing the role of the father figure very well. "You are no longer the monster I feared. You are now the boy I admired." Dumbledore paused for a moment, trying to think of what to say next. "And what you did today -- permitting me to announce your identity to the student body, standing up to Mister Malfoy like that -- it was exceptionally courageous of you."  
  
"Gryffindor courage," Tom laughed. "Gryffindor courage in the Heir of Slytherin."  
  
"Gryffindor would have been lucky to have had a boy like you," Dumbledore said honestly. "I am very fond of you, Tom Riddle. I think of you as my prize student, as my most gifted pupil, and in some ways, as my own child."  
  
"You never used to like me," Tom smiled, remembering those days when Dumbledore had kept the closest watch on him.  
  
"Ah, no my boy!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "I always liked you. I just never trusted your judgement. I watched you closely because I cared about you so much. I wanted to make sure that you didn't do something foolhardy. I was trying to make sure that you didn't fall to Dark Forces . . ." Dumbledore suddenly looked very sorrowful. "I failed miserably, unfortunately." Dumbledore paused for a moment. Tom didn't deny his last statement. "You are falling in love with our young Mister Potter," Dumbledore said suddenly.  
  
"No," Tom said quickly. "Never love."  
  
"And why not love?" Dumbledore asked curiously.  
  
"I just . . . It wouldn't be right if we were to fall in love. The way I've hurt him . . ."  
  
"The way he's hurt you," Dumbledore said, knowing what Tom was thinking but neglecting to say.  
  
"That also," Tom replied quietly. "We've been enemies for so long . . . I'll be his lover but I'll never be able to be his love."  
  
"So you'd use him for the sex but never give your heart?" Dumbledore asked with an air of cynicism. Tom knew that Dumbledore was trying to joke around with him but the statement was frighteningly real. "I have unintentionally touched a chord," Dumbledore noticed.  
  
"I have been pushing the boy to sleep with me," Tom blushed, something he rarely did. "I have yet to tell him that I love him but I have still been pushing him to sleep with me."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "My dear boy, that is certainly not uncommon. Often, physical gratification is just a step to admitting one's love."  
  
"I can't love him," Tom repeated.  
  
Dumbledore ignored this comment. "Tom, Harry is a young teenage boy -- Almost driven to insanity by raging hormones. Do you remember what it was like to be a teenage boy, alone at night?" Another quick blush from Tom told Dumbledore that Tom did remember, fairly vividly. "Harry without a doubt will give into your whims and I approve of your taking him but remember, this is only one step of a relationship. You cannot tell Harry that you love him until you are able to admit to yourself that you love him. That would be unfair to the boy."  
  
"I will never love him," Tom said, staying firmly on that subject.  
  
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Dumbledore said, slyly. "'Never say never,' as the Muggle saying goes. I think you'll find that love will come easily to you if you let it. After all, you said it yourself, you're not the man you used to be."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Tom walked back to the room -- To the wardrobe, to the bed, to the boy. Tom walked back to everything that kept him chained to Hogwarts -- In some ways chained like a prisoner and in others, chained of his own accord.  
  
And he was frightened.  
  
Frightened that he wasn't the man he used to be, frightened that he had become weak, frightened that he hardly understood himself anymore . . . "It used to be so simple, didn't it Tom? Working to better yourself and that so-called 'cause' you had. Working for your ambition, your greed, your thirst for power . . . You never needed feelings back then. You never needed love or passion or friendship or sympathy . . ." Tom was frightened because he found himself turning to Harry as a confidant and a companion. He found that he was frightened because he found himself growing dependent on another.  
  
He was frightened because he was falling in love with Harry Potter.  
  
Tom quickly walked to the wardrobe and grabbed his robes, stuffing them into a bag. He draped a cloak around his shoulders and was about to walk through the door when something stopped him. He slowly walked back to the bed and took one last look at Harry Potter. One last look at the battered, beaten, and in some ways defeated boy before him. He leaned over and kissed Harry softly on the forehead. Harry edged slightly around in the bed, reaching out to curl against Tom but, upon finding that there was no Tom there, he reverted to curling around his pillow for comfort.  
  
"Silly boy," Tom said quietly, stroking Harry's brown bangs. "You'll hardly even notice I'm gone. Dumbledore says that once you're bound to someone, you can't leave them. I guess I'll just have to prove him wrong . . ."  
  
Tom kissed Harry once more on the forehead and walked out the door, all the while telling himself not to look back.  
  
Author's Note: Short and another cliffhanger, I know -- Don't worry, I'll update again soon (I always do) 


	18. Fever and Potential Death

Chapter Eighteen -- Fever and Potential Death  
  
"Tom?" Harry said, opening his eyes and rolling over to find the other side of the bed decidedly empty. "Tom? Where are you?"  
  
Harry went to sit up. "Oh god!" he shouted, slamming his head back against the pillow. He was suddenly struck with a wave of sickness unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. His stomach was churning, his head was pounding, and every muscle in his body was sore.  
  
"Great," Harry said between clenched teeth. "A fever. That's exactly what I need."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked Hermione at breakfast that morning.  
  
"No," Hermione answered, sipping on a glass of orange juice. "He's probably off somewhere with Tom doing . . . whatever it is that they do together."  
  
Ron grimaced. The last thing he wanted to think about was Tom doing anything with his best friend. Although the logical and understanding Hermione had come to terms with the situation, Ron had yet to. Maybe it was due to the fact that Ron was a boy and the thought of a male homosexual relationship was more threatening to him. Maybe it was due to the fact that Ron had a long-withstanding fear of Lord Voldemort. Maybe it was due to the fact that Ron just didn't want to see his best friend get hurt at the hands of his long-time archenemy. Whatever the case, Ron had yet to come to grips with the relationship.  
  
"You don't approve of Harry and Tom being together, do you?" Hermione asked, grabbing an apple from the middle of the table. "You think that Tom should leave, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," Ron said, taking a bite out of an grapefruit and accidentally squirting some of the citrus juice into Hermione's eye.  
  
"Ouch!" Hermione yelped. "Can't you please be more careful with that fruit?"  
  
Ginny Weasley had edged down the table to sit with her elder brother.  
  
"If you ask me, I don't approve of any of it," Ginny snuffed. "I think Tom's an absolutely awful boy and I don't think he has any business with Harry."  
  
"That's just because you have a crush on Harry," Ron said, rolling his eyes at his sister. Even though she was only a year younger, he still thought of her as immature to the extreme.  
  
"I do not!" Ginny exclaimed but the sudden redness of her cheeks stated otherwise. "I just don't think that Harry Potter should be getting mixed up with Tom Riddle. He's dangerous, after all."  
  
"Look," Hermione sighed. "It's not like Harry has a choice. He has to be with Tom -- all the time. If Tom ever travels an extensive distance from Harry, one of them is going to suffer for it. I read it in this book you see -- One of them will suffer fever and potential death."  
  
Ron wrinkled up his nose. "Fever and potential death? Charming little spell isn't it?"  
  
"The fact is," Hermione said with a very studious air, "If Tom Riddle were ever to leave Hogwarts, Harry would probably end up dying."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
It was eleven o'clock and there was still no sign of Harry Potter. Ron and Hermione were sitting in potions, trying to concoct an Aging Potion but not having much luck with it. Severus Snape was walking around the room, looking for a unsuspecting Gryffindor to deduct points from, when he noticed that one of the places in the classroom was empty.  
  
"Where's Mister Potter?" Snape asked harshly, walking to the front of the classroom.  
  
"We haven't seen him all day, Professor," Ron muttered out.  
  
"And did any of you think to check his room?"  
  
"I thought Tom might have been in there with him and I didn't want to interrupt . . ."  
  
Ron blushed deeply at the thought of what could be going on behind those closed doors. The rest of the class erupted into laughter. Professor Snape stood there, a scowl twisting his lips and obviously not amused with the comment.  
  
"Go check his room now," Snape said in the most threatening tone he could manage. That was enough to send Ron flying out of the room. The rest of the class stood there, in a state of nervousness and anticipation. Professor Snape stood there -- Looking idly out of a window and drumming his fingers against the desk. As Hermione examined the mysterious and inhospitable professor, it seemed that he was almost . . . concerned. Professor Snape turned around to face the class and was greeted with fifty blue, green, and brown eyes staring directly at him.  
  
"Well? Get back to your work or I'll begin deducting points."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry lay on his bed -- Shivering with cold one moment and burning with red heat the next. It was one of those fevers that diluted all reality. Harry no longer had any sense of time -- He couldn't tell if an hour had passed since he first woke or a second. Thus, he had no reason to wonder where Tom had gone and if he'd be coming back any time soon. Harry found himself falling into fantasies where the waves of nausea had no influence and the pounding headache was forgotten . . .  
  
Tom always filled Harry's fantasies -- The beautiful, majestic creature with the jet-black hair and the crimson eyes that always enchanted his dreams and his reality. Tom was everything to Harry -- He was power and passion and beauty and divinity . . . He was the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. Harry found himself floating back to when he had been a baby . . .  
  
He was nestled in his crib, crying as loudly as he could. But, cry as he might, his mother would not come. Then, all of a sudden, a tall black shape loomed over Harry's crib. Thin fingers reached out to stroke the child's face and Harry fell silent under the calming touch. The hood was drawn back to reveal a man in his mid fifties. His hair had not yet begun to gray and was still a delightful ebony. Thin lines were just beginning to form around the corners of his eyes and his mouth but they only made him look gentile. Crimson eyes stared down on him with a light that Harry had never seen before. They made him coo softly. The man smiled at the delighted sounds coming from the child.  
  
"Harry Potter," the man smiled, his fingers light and feathery against the boy's cheek. "So young and innocent and such a shame."  
  
The man pulled out what appeared to be a long tree branch -- Like something Harry saw when his parents took him to the park.  
  
"Just relax child," the man said softly. "Relax and this will all be finished in a moment's time. Then you can go and join your parents. You miss your mother, don't you?" Harry laughed as the man's fingers darted to a spot that happened to be ticklish.  
  
"You miss your mother," the man said, as if it were an affirmation to himself. "You're going to want to be with her -- And your father. We can never forget about your father."  
  
Harry reached up and tried to grab the branch, as if it were a plaything. The man chuckled and pulled the branch just out of Harry's reach.  
  
"I'm afraid, my child, that you cannot have this. But I will show you something . . . extraordinary . . ."  
  
The man pointed the wand at the child.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," the man said, quietly so as not to disturb the blissful child. The tip of the branch glowed a lovely green color and the rest was darkness.  
  
Harry was disturbed from the memory by the sound of his door opening and closing.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Ron knocked on Harry's door three times before finally using the Alohomora charm. The door opened and Ron entered to find a pale, shivering Harry -- Twisting and turning, the covers wrapped around his frail form.  
  
Ron slowly approached Harry, not wanting to startle him. He sat down next to the bed and realized that Harry didn't even notice that he had come into the room.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
No response.  
  
"Tom?" Ron called into the depths of the chambers, momentarily frightened for his own well-being. What if this was some kind of curse that Tom had put on Harry? Ron gulped thinking that, if Tom were here and in a hostile mood, he could very possibly get zapped with the Avada Kedavra curse and then . . . No more Ron.  
  
There was no response. It appeared that Tom had left.  
  
Another thought came to Ron and he quickly held the back of his hand against Harry's forehead. It was unnaturally warm. Tom was gone. Harry was burning up.  
  
"Fever and potential death," Ron muttered to himself. 


	19. The Flight for Preservation

Chapter Nineteen -- The Flight for Preservation  
  
Harry lay in the infirmary -- Sweat trickling in steady streams down his cheeks and his forehead, groaning in pain. Hermione sat by his side, softly dabbing his cracked lips with water from time to time. Ron paced the room back and forth.  
  
"Leave it to Dumbledore to travel this weekend," Ron spat, upset beyond logic and reason. "While he's off in Germany, Harry's here on the brink of death!"  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call it 'the brink of death' . . . yet," Hermione said, trying not to let her own fright and anxiety show. "Besides, he'll be back any day now, I'm sure of it."  
  
"They did send him a letter, didn't they?" Ron asked, looking for affirmation.  
  
"McGonagall sent one yesterday," Hermione said.  
  
"This is all Tom's fault," Ron said bitterly. "He should have known better than to run off! He should have known what it would do to Harry . . . He should have known . . ."  
  
"He probably didn't know," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "Dumbledore probably just told him never to leave Hogwarts. I bet he didn't tell him all of the details."  
  
"What? That Harry would die?"  
  
"I just don't think that Tom would go running off if he thought that Harry's life would be jeopardized because of it," Hermione said. She didn't know Tom Riddle well but she knew that he cared enough about Harry not to put him into direct danger. He had proven himself to Hermione that one morning in the Great Hall when he had stood for Harry's honor.  
  
"I hope you're right," Ron said -- Glancing out the window and hoping for Dumbledore's return.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore knocked on the door of the old Potter household -- Now a decrepit, run-down building with monstrous vines growing up the side.  
  
"Tom?" Dumbledore called. "Tom, please open the door. It's a matter of the utmost importance."  
  
The door slowly opened and Tom appeared, glaring at Dumbledore.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked bitterly. "And how did you know I was here?"  
  
"Where else would you have gone?" Dumbledore asked, smiling gently at Tom. "This house holds so many important emotions for you. It represents your guilt, your self-loathing, your ambition, your fear . . . By coming to this house, you are truly brewing in your own misery."  
  
Tom opened the door wider.  
  
"How is the young child doing?" he asked, feigning indifference.  
  
"By 'the young child,' I'm going to take it that you mean Harry Potter," Dumbledore replied. "He is the reason that I have come to call on you. I am afraid we do not have much time."  
  
"Much time for what?" Tom asked, gripping the door until his knuckles were white. "What's happened to him?"  
  
"He is feverish," Dumbledore stated. "Close to the point of death."  
  
"What?" Tom asked, suddenly feeling weak.  
  
"Let's step inside, Tom," Dumbledore said. "You can have a seat. You suddenly do not look very well."  
  
Tom and Dumbledore went into the living room -- Tom falling onto a couch, Dumbledore sitting down next to him.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with me," Tom said simply. "I've been feeling perfectly fine. I . . . I don't have a temperature and I haven't been ill . . ."  
  
"That's why binding works so well," Dumbledore said, patting Tom on the hand. "Only one of you has to be ill. If he dies, you die. It's as simple as that."  
  
"I must return then," Tom said, getting up from the couch and gathering his cloak from a nearby closet.  
  
"Before we return," Dumbledore started, "I have to ask you why you left Hogwarts. You obviously were developing deep feelings for young Mister Potter and you never acted like the atmosphere of the school upset you much . . . Why would you ever take off like that?"  
  
"Don't you know?" Tom asked, genuinely shocked. Dumbledore shook his head. "I left because I realized that I didn't understand myself anymore. I had lost all sense of my identity." Tom sat down on the couch momentarily. "For most of my life, I have been the Dark Lord Voldemort. That has been my identity -- A murdering, unfeeling, despised creature. Now, all of a sudden, I'm Tom Riddle."  
  
"A completely different person," Dumbledore said, coming to an understanding of the situation.  
  
"Exactly. I'm reading books and making friends and practicing Quidditch for God's sake!" Tom laughed. "And I'm falling in love . . . This isn't supposed to happen to me. I am Lord Voldemort!"  
  
"You were Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore corrected, taking Tom by the hand. "You are Tom Riddle now. You can feel and laugh and play and learn and love. You can enjoy every day and live it to the fullest. Consider it to be a second chance, Tom. This is a second chance on having everything you missed out on. Forget the corruption and the guilt and just try to let yourself be happy for once."  
  
"It's harder than you make it sound," Tom smiled. "Just coming here . . . I remember that cooing little baby that I would have killed . . ."  
  
"It's over Tom," Dumbledore said. "That was a long time ago. You reaffirmed it yourself. You're a completely different person now. You can't become buried in the sins of your past. It's time to move forward."  
  
Dumbledore rose from the couch and offered Tom his hand.  
  
And Tom Riddle took it, gratefully.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -----------------------------------------  
  
They returned to Hogwarts around nightfall -- Both exhausted from the trip. Dumbledore rushed Tom up to the infirmary, to Harry. They froze in the doorway, unnoticed by the two figures in the room. Ron and Hermione were devotedly sitting vigil next to Harry's bed.  
  
"He looks bad," Ron said softly. "I hope Dumbledore hurries up."  
  
"He'll be fine," Hermione said, lying her hand softly on Ron's. "Trust me, won't you? Dumbledore will get here in time and he'll do . . . something."  
  
"Something?" Ron scoffed.  
  
"He'll make everything better."  
  
Dumbledore smiled at the trusting nature of the children and pushed Tom forward into the light of the room. Hermione and Ron turned around suddenly. Hermione smiled brightly at Tom while Ron scowled bitterly.  
  
"I knew you'd come back," Hermione said, getting up and giving Tom a quick kiss on the cheek. "I knew that you wouldn't leave him like this."  
  
"I had no idea that this would happen," Tom said, smiling at the girl's caring and understanding nature.  
  
"I didn't think so," Hermione replied. That softened Ron's frown a little and it disappeared altogether when Tom walked over and gently caressed Harry's cheek. Harry's eyes batted open and blinked a few times.  
  
"Tom?" he asked, his voice ragged and hoarse.  
  
"I'm here now," Tom said in his most soothing tone.  
  
"I . . . Where'd you go?"  
  
"It's of no importance now. Don't speak, just rest." And, at that command, Harry closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Harry's fever broke that night. Tom never left his side. 


	20. Potions Class

Author's Note: I don't write about Snape very often but, for a change of pace, I decided to write a chapter with him (Isn't he just sweet . . . kind of?)  
  
Happy 20th Chapter!  
  
Chapter Twenty -- Potions Class  
  
Harry sat in Potions class, aimlessly twirling his quill in between his fingers. It was his first day back to classes, officially away from the infirmary and the watchful eye of Tom Riddle. He smiled at the thought of Tom, sitting next to his bed, saying things like "Harry, eat your soup" or "Harry, you can't play Quidditch today." Tom had tried to sound authoritative with his commands. Instead, he just ended up sounding like the disgruntled parent.  
  
"And may I ask, Mister Potter, what is so amusing that you happen to be drifting from my class?" Harry heard the question but it sounded so distant . . . Maybe it was a dream. In that case, there was no harm in answering.  
  
"Tom," Harry said in his hazy trance. Maybe it was a dream . . . But then he heard the almost ear-shattering laughter which quickly made him realize that it was very much reality. Harry blushed a deep shade of red and everyone around him gasped and wheezed with laughter. The most shocking thing was that Professor Snape even managed a smile at his young student. After a few moments though, he quickly fell back into his role as the strict, scowling Potions master.  
  
"Mister Potter, I would like to speak to you after class. Now back to the Wit-Sharpening Potion . . ."  
  
Harry felt like sinking into his seat and disappearing . . . Ron quickly flicked a note his way. Harry picked up the stray piece of parchment.  
  
"Harry's got a boyfriend!" it read. The was so juvenile and immature -- Just something Ron would do . . . A wide grin spread across Harry's face. Only Ron could so successfully make Harry feel better in the grips of despair.  
  
"The end of class always comes to soon," Harry thought, slumping his head onto the desk. His first day back from illness and he was already in trouble. Ron gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked out the door and Hermione gave him her most sympathetic glance. Professor Snape sat at his desk, correcting the last test and smiling as he wrote "Failed" on it in harsh red ink.  
  
Harry cleared his throat and Snape looked up from his work.  
  
"Oh, yes," he muttered. "Potter. I would like to speak to you in my chambers. Follow me."  
  
Harry gulped. His chambers? Harry must have really underestimated the seriousness of the situation. He had thought the daydreaming was a mild offence, punishable by detention of deducting some points. Definitely not a trip to Snape's chambers!  
  
Harry walked into the small, compact room -- All done up in black and green. "Tom would like this room," Harry smiled to himself, remembering Tom's infatuation with Slytherin colors.  
  
Snape signaled for Harry to have a seat and Harry found a place on one of the cluttered chairs scattered about the room. He squirmed uncomfortably as the hardwood edges bit into the backs of his legs. "How can Snape use this type of furniture?" he wondered briefly. But the Potions master didn't show the least bit of discomfort as he sat down in the chair opposite Harry.  
  
"You are not in trouble with me," Snape said, although you couldn't prove that statement by his harsh tone of voice. "Although you should learn to pay attention in my class. Next time I find you daydreaming, I will deduct points from Gryffindor."  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
"I simply called you in here to ask how things were going with Tom Riddle."  
  
Harry stared at the Professor with wide green eyes.  
  
"You were . . . concerned, Professor?"  
  
The disbelief in Harry's voice was almost humorous to Professor Snape. "Yes, Mister Potter," he thought to himself. "Believe it or not, I can feel concern for a boy thrown into the clutches of one so evil . . . and at such an early age." Snape found himself marveling at the boy's youth. He had never looked upon the child with anything other than blind hatred. Now, when he looked at the young Potter sitting before him in the light of pity and concern, he was somewhat moved. "Such a young thing . . . Barely over sixteen," Snape thought. You can still see the traces of adolescence."  
  
Snape cleared his throat. "Yes Mister Potter," he responded, sharply. "I was concerned for your well-being. Are the two of you fairing well?"  
  
"Yes Professor," Harry replied hesitantly. "We're doing very well actually."  
  
"And does Tom treat you with the due amount of respect and reverence?"  
  
Harry gaped at this comment. Then he almost felt like bursting into peals of laughter. "Professor Snape! You think about 'the due amount of respect and reverence?' What old-fashioned ideals!" Harry thought. Snape scowled as he watched the smile sneak up onto his pupil's lips.  
  
"Yes, Professor," Harry finally responded smugly. "Tom definitely treats me with the due amount of respect and reverence."  
  
"And he hasn't tried to . . ." If Snape had been the type to blush, he would have at that moment. "He hasn't tried to accost you in any impure way? He hasn't tried to . . . deflower you has he?"  
  
Harry couldn't help it. He laughed hysterically. Just the picture of Snape sitting there, worrying about Harry's virginity at the hands of Tom Riddle . . . And then putting it all so eloquently, trying to detach himself some the matter as much as possible!  
  
"You must understand Harry," Snape said bitterly, trying to regain his authority. "I only worry that Tom Riddle is in some way trying to take advantage of you. I know Lord Voldemort and he likes to feed off of the feelings of the weak. I just want to make sure that something like that does not happen to you."  
  
Harry had stopped laughing now and was just letting out muffled giggles occasionally.  
  
"Well, you can be assured that Tom has not tried to 'deflower' me against my will yet."  
  
Snape looked somewhat relieved. He had feared the worst for the boy. There was no telling what would happen to a young innocent in the hands of Lord Voldemort.  
  
"I just want you to know," he said, placing one of his hands over Harry's. "That if anything happens, you can always come and speak to me about it."  
  
Harry was a bit taken aback. One, by the kind words that were being emitted from the most hateful teacher in the entire school. Two, by the cold hand that was suddenly on his own. Three, by the mere prospect of being invited to come and talk to Professor Snape of all people in times of trouble.  
  
"Sir," Harry asked, uncomfortably, "Why are you suddenly being so kind to me?"  
  
Snape sighed, lifting his hand and placing it back in his lap.  
  
"I know what it is like to be at the mercy of someone who is cruel. I know what it is like to be in an abusive relationship with another. I know how degrading it can be and how it can eat away at your confidence and your opinion of yourself. I know how you come out of it feeling beaten and battered and scarred. If this ever, ever happens to you, I want you to know that you can come and speak with me about it. I will understand and . . ." Snape faded off for a moment, suddenly worn out by the sentiment of opening himself up to a student. "We can go about setting everything right."  
  
"You really are an exceptional teacher in some ways, Professor," Harry smiled.  
  
"Only in these circumstances," Snape said harshly, not wanting to lose his long-kept, heartless persona. "Only because he's Tom Riddle and . . ." Snape sighed. "Only because you're Harry Potter."  
  
Snape got up from the chair and stood -- Looming over Harry, trying to look as intimidating as ever.  
  
"Now report to herbology immediately and tell Professor Sprout that I kept you late."  
  
Harry was about to walk out of the room when something stopped him. He ran back to Professor Snape and quickly threw his arms around him. The extremely surprised Professor stumbled backwards but managed to remain standing upright. Harry finally let go and with a quick but sincere "Thanks Professor!" he left Snape alone, and puzzled, in his chambers. 


	21. Deflowering (Part One)

Author's Note: I'm really sorry that I haven't updated in a long time but I just found out that my gorgeous English teacher who've I've been in love with for years is engaged (That's not depressing) but I'm over it now so . . . On with the fiction!  
  
These next two parts are for all of you who have reviewed and waited so loyally (Sorry that Part One is so short -- And yes, Erin, I wrote more)  
  
Chapter Twenty One -- Deflowering (Part One)  
  
Tom lay on the bed, finishing up the last volume not yet read. Dumbledore had not yet chosen to let him work on those "projects" and Tom was getting restless. His days were filled with idle reading, wandering the school aimlessly, and helping Harry with all of his homework. "God knows," Tom thought. "The boy needs the extra help. His potions grade is dropping lower every week." At just that moment, Harry came bursting through the door -- Bright energy into a dull listless world. He had just come from Quidditch Practice. Sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead.  
  
"I'm bored," Tom said, unconsciously trying to dampen Harry's mood a little.  
  
"Really?" Harry asked, unconcerned. "Maybe you should try doing something then."  
  
"What?" Tom scoffed.  
  
"I don't know . . . Take up Quidditch," Harry laughed, tossing his broomstick at the bed. Harry headed into the bathroom. "Probably to take a shower," Tom thought to himself. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and prepared for a short siesta.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
Tom's eyes flickered open when he heard the sound of a door clicking shut. He turned his head to the clock. 8:00? Harry had been in the bathroom for . . . Three hours? Tom slowly lifted his head to see Harry, leaning against the bathroom door. A dark blue bathroom hung loosely on his shoulders with a wanton sort of appeal. Soft, green eyes were looking timidly at Tom through brown bangs.  
  
"Stop being a tease," Tom sighed, lying back in bed. "Just take that bathrobe off and come to bed."  
  
Harry didn't move. Tom sat alert and upright.  
  
"I said, take that bathrobe off and come to bed."  
  
Harry undid the belt that held the bathrobe onto his lithe body. A few moments later and Tom found a decidedly naked Harry Potter standing in the middle of his chambers. Tom's authoritative nature automatically dissolved into nothingness.  
  
"Oh," Tom whispered, genuinely shocked. "I didn't mean . . . Well, I thought you had something on under that. My mistake."  
  
Harry made his way to the bed and slid in under the covers, tucking them up around his pale form.  
  
"G'night then," he said tersely.  
  
"You really are a tease," Tom yawned, turning over and closing his eyes.  
  
"You're going to sleep?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.  
  
"Aren't you?"  
  
"I was kidding," Harry said, perching himself up against the headboard.  
  
"Oh." Tom quickly sat up next to Harry, fully attentive.  
  
Harry blushed deeply. "I was thinking we could do . . . You know . . ." Tom smirked. Harry's age was showing now more than ever. He sounded like one of those second grade children on the playground talking about the infamous "it" -- Or, in this case, "you know."  
  
"That's interesting," Tom said smugly. "You had absolutely no shame when it came to stripping down in the middle of our chambers but now you can't bring yourself to say the word 'sex.'" Harry blushed from rose to crimson.  
  
"Sex," he muttered defiantly. With his eyes open, Tom saw a pouting, naked boy lying next to him but with closed eyes, it was a far different picture. With closed eyes, it was scraped knees covered with beige Band- Aids. With closed eyes, it was fingers, sticky with Popsicle drippings. With closed eyes, it was a tongue sticking out tauntingly or a "na-na-nee- foo-foo!"  
  
"Child," Tom replied, his voice tangy, tart, and suddenly emotionless. Harry found Tom's tone particularly unpleasant and it made him squirm about under the sheets.  
  
"If you don't want to do this . . ." Harry murmured, leaving the rest of the statement for Tom to fill in by himself.  
  
"I never said I didn't want to do this," Tom said sharply. "It's just, now that I'm here, I'm not so sure if you're ready."  
  
"What? Ready to be deflowered?" Harry laughed, remembering Snape's eloquent speech from earlier in the day.  
  
"Stop," Tom scolded. "You sound like Severus." Harry wondered fleetingly how he knew. "All I know is that you're a child, probably not prepared for what's going to happen to you tonight. You say that you're ready but I have to know if I can trust your judgement."  
  
"Why are we arguing about this?" Harry sighed. "You've been trying to get me into bed for months. Now you have me. What is there to argue about? I'm here. I'm ready. I want this."  
  
Tom unflinchingly laid his hand on Harry's crotch. The gesture was done with so little passion that it made Harry almost wish that he really had just fallen asleep.  
  
"Is this what you want?" Tom lulled. "Let me tell you Harry, I am sixty-nine years old, old enough to be your grandfather. I have been with more men in my lifetime than you could hope to imagine. I'm sure you even know a few of them." Tom purred the names into Harry's ear, making him press back against the head of the bed in a state of discomfort. Harry's breath especially hitched in his throat at the name "Lucius." "So Tom," Harry thought quickly. "There's more to this Malfoy rivalry than just pride and power." When Tom was through with an astoundingly lengthy list of names, he sat back on the bed, gaining distance from Harry, his hand removed. "With that taken care of," Tom said softly, "Is this what you want?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said resolutely. "This is what I want."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ---------------------------------------  
  
"Avada Kedavra," the man said, quietly so as not to disturb the blissful child. The tip of the branch glowed a lovely green color and the rest was darkness.  
  
When Harry Potter awoke from deep slumber, he crawled around to the side of his crib. He attempted to stand, teetered on unsure feet, supported himself on the railing, and looked around the room curiously. Harry cried out for anyone -- His mother, his father, the man with the crimson eyes . . . But no one came. He was alone in the room.  
  
He wanted someone here -- To comfort him, to protect him, to care for him. He wanted some sense that everything was going to be alright. Instead of comforting words, an empty house echoed his wailing. A baby should never be isolated from the rest of the world with no one to turn to, yet Harry Potter found himself in that position.  
  
Alone . . . The baby fell onto the padded mattress of his crib and wondered how long he'd be alone . . .  
  
Thirteen . . . Fourteen . . . Fifteen . . . Sixteen . . .  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ---------------------------------------  
  
"Don't think about it," Tom said softly, pressing his lips to Harry's. It was one of those experimental kisses, devoid of passion or wanting. Just done to gauge the reaction of both individuals involved -- To make sure that they liked the current situation. Harry looked expectantly up at Tom.  
  
"Well?" Harry asked, wondering why Tom was biding his time.  
  
Tom pressed his lips against Harry's again. The kiss was deeper this time. In a piece of fiction, it would be written as "searing and heated" but in Harry's mindset it was sloppy and needy and hasty. Tongues pushed against each other, both subconsciously wanting to gain the upper hand. Hands groped aimlessly, just wanting to feel more skin. Tom wrapped his legs around Harry, bucking his hips instinctively against Harry's thigh. Just wanting to satiate that need that loomed at the front of his mind . . . Hungry and wanting and . . .  
  
"Slow down," Harry gasped, pushing Tom off a little bit.  
  
"What?" Tom panted.  
  
"Slow down," Harry said, softly. "It's my first time. I don't want it to be something that's rushed."  
  
Tom smiled down at Harry.  
  
"Fine," Tom said, whisking his fingers across Harry's cheek in an agonizing dreamy lull. He lay down on the bed next to Harry, getting comfortable.  
  
"Okay, okay," Harry exclaimed, exasperated. "I said don't rush it. I didn't say make it painfully slow."  
  
"Maybe I should," Tom grinned before taking Harry's bruised lips with his own once again.  
  
Author's Note: Hate to leave you all like this but I worn out (Writing scenes like this is exhausting, really!) 


	22. Deflowering (Part Two)

Author's Note: Okay, I was getting afraid that people were going to start sending death threats if I didn't update so . . .  
  
Chapter Twenty Two -- Deflowering (Part Two)  
  
Harry Potter turned around to look at the boy next to him, curled up in a fetal position, letting out slight humming noises in his sleep. He looked content, lying there -- Content and happy. He couldn't be more than sixteen, Harry thought to himself, brushing a strand of black hair out of the boy's face. He couldn't be more than sixteen . . . Couldn't be more than another student at Hogwarts . . . Couldn't be more than another pretty boy sharing his bed and . . . But he wasn't just another pretty boy sharing his bed. Lord Voldemort was sharing his bed.  
  
And it all hit Harry like a bludger to the head.  
  
What had he done last night? What had he been thinking? He replayed the events of the evening -- Replacing the name "Tom" with the name "Lord Voldemort." After all, they were one and the same. He had kissed Lord Voldemort. He had fondled Lord Voldemort. He had . . . He shuddered as the actions became more pornographic and hard to think about. He had gone down on Lord Voldemort. He had let Lord Voldemort fuck him . . . The cold thoughts invaded his mind. It suddenly dawned on Harry that he really had been trying to make Tom Riddle into a completely different entity. Having sex with Tom Riddle was an enjoyable thought. Having sex with Lord Voldemort was still utterly repulsive to him. Lord Voldemort. What would his parents have said?  
  
"Stop thinking about your parents," Tom -- Lord Voldemort -- murmured harshly.  
  
Harry started. "How did you know I was . . .?"  
  
"Just knew," Tom shrugged, turning over.  
  
"I thought you were asleep," Harry stated.  
  
"I know you did. What exactly are you thinking about your parents? How disappointed they'd be in you? How they'd scorn you? How you're disrespecting them as we speak?"  
  
As if to emphasize his point, Tom softly kissed the nape of Harry's neck. Harry shuddered but whether it was from the kiss or the cruel comment, he wasn't so sure. Tom wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling the young boy closer.  
  
"So? What were you thinking?"  
  
"Why did you kill my parents?" Harry sighed. He wanted to shove off Tom's arms. He wanted to distance himself from the man who'd murdered his parents that night, years ago. Unfortunately, something -- One of those indefinite powers -- kept him locked in place.  
  
"I love how you ask that right after we've had sex," Tom said, his voice breathy. "I killed your parents for reasons . . . That you don't need to know about, Harry. Harry Potter . . ." Tom's voice was low and raspy and Harry flinched in Tom's embrace. It was all becoming clearer to him now -- That parasitic face that haunted his first year, that memory that had invaded Ginny's thoughts, the cause of Cedric Diggory's death . . .  
  
Oh God, Cedric Diggory. Harry hadn't thought about him until now. Cedric Diggory -- The boy who had gone through the Triwizard Tournament with him and had lost his life in the process. Harry elbowed Tom, fighting his way out of Tom's arms and rolling over to the other side of the bed.  
  
"From now on," Harry said, biting into the words. "You stay on your side of this bed. I stay on mine."  
  
"What's the matter now?" Tom asked, rolling his eyes -- A fairly immature gesture and not something that Harry would have expected from Tom . . . No, from Lord Voldemort.  
  
"I let myself forget," Harry said, bitterly. "I let myself forget that . . . It's just a faÃ§ade, isn't it? The whole thing is just a faÃ§ade to make the thought of spending the rest of my life with you semi-bearable. Isn't that it?"  
  
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Tom asked, irritated yet . . . concerned.  
  
"How could I ever forgive you? How could I forgive you after what you did to my parents . . ."  
  
"I had a perfectly good reason for what I did your parents," Tom lashed back.  
  
"So you claim. Why don't you tell me what it is then? Was it just because they wouldn't join in an alliance with you? Was it just because they defied you and fought against you . . . Or was there something else that you aren't telling me?"  
  
Tom cast his eyes downward, not wanting to look at Harry at the present moment.  
  
"I'll tell you some other time. It's not just the fact that they defied me, no. There was more to it than that. But I don't feel like telling you now."  
  
"Whatever," Harry said, getting out of bed and walking over to the dresser.  
  
"Is that it? Is this whole little . . . tirade about your parents?"  
  
"No," Harry shouted. "It's not just about my parents. It's about the fact that you ruined my life. For the past sixteen years, my life has been in complete turmoil because of you. Do you know what it's like to have your very existence threatened since the day you were born? Do you know what it's like to live in fear?"  
  
"A life lived in fear is a life half lived," Tom replied, lying back against the headboard. "Now come back to bed, won't you?"  
  
"No," Harry said, distastefully, tossing on a spare robe. "I will not go back to bed with Lord Voldemort."  
  
And before Tom could reply, Harry had left the room.  
  
"But why won't you go to back to bed with Tom Riddle?" Tom sighed, lying his head against the pillow. "Or has the child finally figured out that they're really one and the same?"  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry made his way up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories. The door eased open under his gentile touch and he walked inside the darkened bedroom. Yes, there were those four-posted beds with the Gryffindor-colored curtains. It was all so familiar and yet, it seemed like it had been such a long time since he'd been in his room. Harry noticed that "his bed" had been sentimentally left vacant. Coincidental, Harry smiled. He tiptoed across the floor, making sure not to wake any of his roommates and he lay down in his bed, pulling the coverlet up around his chin.  
  
"That you, Harry?" Ron whispered from the bed next to his.  
  
"Yeah," Harry yawned. "Anyone else awake?"  
  
"Nah. Just me. Why are you here?"  
  
"Thanks for sounding so glad to see me," Harry smiled.  
  
"No, it's great to see you, it's just . . . Did Tom do anything wrong?"  
  
Harry didn't know how to answer that. Tom hadn't done anything wrong . . . recently.  
  
"No, Tom didn't do anything. I just don't know how to handle him at the moment. I . . . He's Lord Voldemort."  
  
"Did this just dawn on you?" Ron smirked.  
  
"Yes," Harry replied, biting on his lip. "Well, it dawned on me before this but tonight we . . ." Harry faded off, his cheeks turning a brilliant crimson. He was suddenly glad for the lack of light. This way, Ron couldn't see his vibrant blushing.  
  
"You . . . What?"  
  
"God Ron," Harry thought to himself. "Can't you fill in the blanks yourself?" Harry turned over in bed, trying to avoid the topic of conversation. He didn't really want to have to explain his sexual exploits.  
  
"G'night Ron," Harry said, closing his eyes and trying to leave his thoughts behind.  
  
"What were you doing? What happened?" But when Ron heard quiet snoring coming from the next bed, he gave up his inquiries and decided it was time for sleep.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Harry tossed and turned, his face covered in a sweat gleam -- Not quite asleep but not quite awake either. In this alpha state, he began to think about the evening. The sex had been fairly fulfilling. Nothing like those porn novels that Ron kept hidden under his bed but it had been fulfilling all the same. Harry swallowed and realized that the taste of Tom's semen was still lingering in his mouth. He was too tired to get out of bed and brush his teeth though so he allowed the salty substance to continue to infiltrate his senses. It had been odd -- Getting down on his knees in front of Tom Riddle, coming face-to-face with another boy's erection. At first, it had disgusted him -- The age-old gay prejudice more than anything. Then, it had confused him. What was he doing here? Was this really what he wanted? Then, he had finally gotten a grip on himself and, without further ado, he had taken the length into his mouth. Harry grimaced at the thought of his performance. It had been sloppy and fumbling. He had no idea what he was doing and it showed it every awkward flick of the tongue, every misplaced stroke of the hand.  
  
But the sex had been fulfilling . . . albeit painful but . . .  
  
"Christ," Harry thought, rolling over and finally resigning himself to slumber. "I lost my virginity tonight."  
  
Author's Note: Well, there's your second part. I really didn't want to write any major sex scenes (I'm sorry -- I just haven't felt like it as of late) so I threw in a little sex at the end for those who were really looking forward to it. I'll update soon . . . Not letting a whole month pass like last time . . . Oh and, note to all reviewers, I've been reading all of your comments and a lot of you have mentioned the potion wearing off: We might be seeing that sometime in the near future (Grins maniacally). Oh and note: The lovely line "A life lived in fear is a life half lived" is probably something you remember from the lovely film "Strictly Ballroom!" 


	23. The Rest of the World

Author's Note: Dedicated to Cat Samwise and Kyohaku Celestiale Vespertina who pointed out that, yes, something IS happening outside of Hogwarts or, more or less, beyond Harry and Tom's relationship  
  
Chapter Twenty Three -- The Rest of the World  
  
Cho Chang sat on her bed, staring out the window. Hermione Granger sat next to her, watching the Ravenclaw seeker with interest. Cho had been silent for quite a while now, just staring out at the trees, leaves rustling in a warm breeze. It was once of those peaceful autumn days that seemed to lull by.  
  
"You shouldn't be here," Cho said suddenly, looking at Hermione. "I could get in a lot of trouble for letting you into the Ravenclaw dormitories."  
  
"I know," Hermione said softly. "I just thought that you needed to know. Harry meant a lot to you."  
  
"I was in love with him," Cho replied. "I was really in love with him . . ." Cho looked defeated at that moment. For a moment, Hermione wondered if she should have told Cho everything about Harry's actual relationship with Tom Riddle -- The romantic liaison, taking place between the two. Harry had wanted the information to be gradually reveled to those who were close to him and, to Hermione, this seemed like a perfect time to tell Cho Chang all about it. "So that was the reason Harry had to break up with me. He's bound for life to Tom Riddle." Hermione noticed the extreme distaste that went along with that name -- Tom Riddle.  
  
"He's not that bad," Hermione shrugged. "I suppose they're happy together. After all, binding spells are supposed to tie you to that one person in the universe who is completely complementary to you."  
  
"I know," Cho sighed, leaning back against her pillow. "I really hope that Harry finds happiness. After all, I just want what's best for him . . ."  
  
"Have you ever read the story 'The Lady and the Tiger?'" Hermione asked suddenly. Cho shook her head no. "Well, it's about this semi-barbaric princess who is having an illicit affair with a courtier."  
  
"Are you calling me semi-barbaric?" Cho laughed.  
  
"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. "Just listen to the rest of the story! Her father finds out and decides to punish to courtier suitably. The courtier is put in this arena with two doors in it. One door leads to a tiger that will eat the courtier whole. The other leads to one of the most beautiful ladies in the land who will marry the courtier instantly. The semi-barbaric princess knows which door hides the lady and which door hides the tiger. The only question is which door will she lead her lover to? Seeing the tiger eat her lover alive would be a horrible fate but watching her lover marry another woman would be worse yet."  
  
"I understand," Cho said, bowing her head slightly. "I want Harry's happiness but in a way . . ."  
  
"You would rather see him miserable than happy in the arms of another," Hermione finished.  
  
"Yeah," Cho said quietly. "I just wish that . . . Well, you know how it goes."  
  
"You wish he could have been bound to you," Hermione said, smiling with understanding.  
  
"I wish he could have been bound to me," Cho repeated, looking dreamily out the window.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
"I just don't know how to treat him anymore," Lavender Brown sighed, helplessly. "I mean, he's still Harry Potter and everything but he's just . . . different now."  
  
"Why? Because he's going out with Tom Riddle?" Parvati Patil asked, making a finishing touch on her Divination project.  
  
"He's not just Tom Riddle. He's Lord Voldemort!" Lavender whispered, still afraid to say the name of you-know-who out loud. "How can Harry Potter, the boy who lived, be bound to Lord Voldemort? I just don't know how to treat him . . ."  
  
"It's not his fault," Parvati said, crossing a t and dotting an i. "He didn't have any control over who he was bound to . . . It is strange though. I've been feeling really uncomfortable lately."  
  
"Why? Because Lord Voldemort is roaming the halls of our school?" Lavender sniffed. "I think that would make anyone uncomfortable. One of the most powerful Dark Lords ever is just walking around Hogwarts. I don't know whether to write home about it or not."  
  
"Don't," Parvati said insistently. "Your parents will probably send a letter telling you to come home. I don't want you to leave Hogwarts."  
  
"I don't want to leave," Lavender replied, leaning against the wall. "But I don't want to stay either -- Not with him around."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Severus Snape sat in a corner of the Slytherin Common Room, keeping an eye on all of the students as they conversed or, more or less, eavesdropping. His hooked nose was buried in a book, his eyes darting over the top of the pages from time to time to identify the speaker. Draco Malfoy sat on an overstuffed green couch with that little slut of his, Pansy Parkinson -- His arm casually draped over her shoulders. Blaise Zabini sat on a chair opposite the couch while Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle made themselves content on the floor.  
  
"He seems very stuck of himself, doesn't he," Pansy snapped, automatically receiving a sharp slap from Draco which Snape chose to ignore.  
  
"Don't speak that way about the Dark Lord," Draco exclaimed.  
  
"Why bother?" Pansy asked, rubbing her cheek gingerly. "Everyone knows that your father is going to rise to his place among the Death Eaters, now that he's gone."  
  
Draco blushed brightly. "Don't say things like that out loud, Pansy."  
  
"Who doesn't know about it?" Blaise scoffed. "Everyone heard what Tom said to you in the Great Hall that one day. He called your father a 'despicable traitor.' Those were his exact words." Draco fumed silently at the girl's insolence. "See?" Blaise continued. "Even Tom Riddle knows. So it doesn't really matter if you say it out loud or not."  
  
"Still . . ." Draco hissed. "You'd do well to keep quiet about it. You never know who might be listening in on a private conversation."  
  
Snape quickly turned his eyes back to his book.  
  
"I just thought he'd be more . . . hospitable to the Slytherins," Pansy commented, choosing her words very carefully. "After all, he is Salazar Slytherin's heir, is he not?"  
  
"Yes," Draco said, contemplatively. "He is. But if that Potter has anything to do with it . . . I wouldn't be sure who I could trust." Draco examined all of his friends closely. They flinched under his silver gaze. "Not even the heir of Slytherin."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Lucius Malfoy sat at his desk, jotting out notes -- His quill delicately lacing red ink onto the parchment. Narcissa entered the room and sat down on the ottoman in the corner. A house elf followed in his wake, carrying a large silver tray with tea, sugar, creamer, and some crumpets on it. The house elf made his way over to the desk and placed the tray down in front of Lucius, smiling with satisfaction at his work.  
  
"Thank you dear," Lucius said, smiling at Narcissa and ignoring the house elf completely.  
  
"Your welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
  
"Yes actually," Lucius said, blowing slowly on the parchment to insure that all of the ink was dry. He folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, pouring out green sealing wax and pressing his signet ring deeply into the warm liquid -- LM. "Narcissa, have this letter sent out by owl immediately."  
  
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the Death Eaters, would it?" Narcissa asked, coyly.  
  
"I don't see why that's any of your business," Lucius said firmly. "Just send the letter out and then tidy yourself up a little. Your lipstick is running."  
  
Narcissa huffed a little and stomped out the door, the house elf picking up the letter and scrambling after her.  
  
Lucius smiled to himself, thinking about all that the future held in store for him. With Tom Riddle out of the picture, he'd finally have the opportunity to become the Master of the Dark Arts. He'd be the one wielding the power, the one in control. There was nothing he lusted for more than control -- To be able to command his subservients to obey his every will. And soon . . . This would all be his.  
  
Thanks to that lowly little Potter. 


	24. Book of Revelations

Author's Note: Well, this is going to be the last part of "Bound" (Don't worry, there's going to be a sequel)  
  
Chapter Twenty Four -- Book of Revelations  
  
-- "Why did you kill my parents?"  
"I love how you ask that right after we've had sex. I killed your parents for reasons . . . That you don't need to know about, Harry. Harry Potter . . ." --  
  
That small segment of last night's conversation remained fresh in Harry Potter's mind. He sat on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories, red sheets curled around him reflecting on the words spoken: "I killed your parents for reasons . . . That you don't need to know about, Harry." What were these "reasons" and why couldn't Tom tell him what they were? What was Tom hiding from him?  
  
The events of the past month began replaying in his mind. He tried to remember everything, any loose end that hadn't been tied by the charming, yet evasive, Tom Riddle. There was that matter of Dumbledore's "projects" for the first thing. Harry had confronted him once about those, wanting to know what they were all about.  
  
-- "Has Dumbledore recruited you for his 'projects' yet?"  
"Not yet. But when he does, I'm not sure if I'll be able to discuss them with you."  
"Come on! We're bound. That means that you can't keep secrets." --  
  
What had those projects been about? What had Dumbledore wanted from Tom? Why were the projects so important that Tom doubted his capability to confide in Harry about them? And why couldn't Tom tell Harry the truth about his parents? Tom had blatantly insulted the Potters numerous times. And, looking back on Tom's glib comments, Harry doubted it was simply a matter of spite. Some of those comments ran deep -- Maybe a bit too deep.  
  
-- "How much time every day do you spend thinking about your parents? And are they really worth all the time you spend on them?"  
"Of course they're worth it."  
"You never met them. How do you know they're worth the time of day?"  
"I just know. And I'm always thinking about my parents. They mean more to me than anything in the world."  
"Suit yourself." --  
  
It was as if Tom knew something about Harry's parents, something that no one else knew. It was one of those deep-rooted secrets, meant to be hidden under a rock or buried in the backyard. What connection did Tom Riddle have to Harry's family? Harry was going practically wild with confusion. Why hadn't he seen all of the spots conveniently left blank before?  
  
And suddenly, Harry knew that there was only one thing to be done.  
  
He had to go and talk to Tom about this.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
Tom sat in the middle of the library, flipping through a book. All of the chairs around him were left empty. Anyone wanting to sit in the library chose a seat on the outskirts of the room -- Far away from Tom and, in their opinion, far away from danger. Tom quickly jotted down some notes and turned the page. He was so preoccupied with his work that he didn't notice Harry rush into the library.  
  
"Tom?"  
  
The book was laid down on the table and Tom sat at the table, his eyes flashing cold crimson at the young boy. Harry pulled out a chair, sitting opposite Tom.  
  
"Yes, Potter?"  
  
"Oh," Harry said, slightly hurt. "So I'm back to being 'Potter' again, I guess." Tom just stared at him without a response. "I have some questions to ask you," Harry continued. "I just need some loose ends tied up before . . ."  
  
"Before what?" Tom laughed. "Before you can leave this room, go back to the lovely Gryffindor towers, and forget that I even came to Hogwarts in the first place? So that you can completely neglect your responsibilities . . ."  
  
"My responsibilities?" Harry scoffed. "Like what? Sleeping with you?"  
  
A slew of gasps went up from the shadows of the library.  
  
"We'd best retire for the evening," Tom said, glancing around nervously. "The Hufflepuffs are becoming offended."  
  
Harry didn't protest, he simply let Tom Riddle lead him out of the library and upstairs to their private chambers.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ----------------------------------------  
  
"So," Tom asked, lying down on the bed. "What did you want to ask me about?" His voice was low, threatening. It made Harry uncomfortable. The young boy slowly eased his way over to the oaken vanity in the corner of the room, slowly sitting down on the stool. Tom kept his eyes firmly attached to the boy, watching his every move meticulously.  
  
"I just . . . It occurred to me that some questions have gone unanswered."  
  
"For example?"  
  
"Those projects that Dumbledore wanted you to help with." Tom looked down at the bed, breaking the stairs. "So you have been hiding something from me . . ." Harry whispered, examining his partner. "What were those projects? What does Dumbledore want you for?"  
  
"I'm not at liberty to say," Tom replied tersely.  
  
"But what about the fact that . . ."  
  
"I can't tell you!" Tom shouted, losing his temper for a moment. His hands were rolled into fists, kneading at the green bedclothes. His face was florid. "Don't you understand, you insolent child! Even if I wanted to tell you about the projects, I can't! I'm bound to my word!"  
  
"Bound to your word?" Harry asked quietly.  
  
"I promised Dumbledore that I would tell you nothing. Do you understand me?" Tom began to calm down. He got up and walked over to Harry, kneeling before the stool. It would have been a romantic gesture if the overall mood of the conversation hadn't been so tense.  
  
"I understand," Harry replied. "Maybe later then?"  
  
"You're absolutely obstinate," Tom sighed, trailing a finger along Harry's jaw. "Maybe someday. Are there any other questions that you want to ask of me?"  
  
"Yes," Harry replied. "I wanted to ask you . . . Why did you kill my parents?"  
  
Tom sighed, standing up in front of Harry.  
  
"Didn't we already go over this?" Tom asked, exasperated. "I thought you asked me this exact same question last night."  
  
"I did," Harry said. "You never answered it."  
  
"There's not much to say. They were against me. It was a matter of survival of the fittest. I persevered when it came to your parents. The Light fell to the Dark. End of story."  
  
"No it's not," Harry scoffed. Tom glared at him. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" Harry asked. "People have been telling me that sorry explanation for years and you know it. If that had been the only reason, you wouldn't have hesitated telling me about it last night. No, you killed them for another reason, didn't you? You told me that you killed them for reasons that I don't need to know about. Well I do need to know about them."  
  
"Too bad," Tom spat. "I'm telling you, the only reason that your parents are dead is because they fought against me."  
  
"And I'm calling you a liar," Harry said quietly, rising to his feet. The tension between the two was practically palpable. They stood there for a long time in an uncomfortable silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Tom was the first to speak.  
  
"You're quite the little interrogator aren't you?" he smiled. It wasn't a warm smile though. It was frigid and frostbitten. It sent a quick shiver down Harry's spine. "If you must know . . . I'm going to have to ask you to sit down, Harry."  
  
Harry obeyed the command, taking a seat on the bed. Tom paced the room a couple times, sorting out what he was going to say, what had to be said. He glanced down at Harry. The young boy was looking up at him expectantly, his eyes glistening with anticipation.  
  
"Fine," Tom said. "I'll just tell you straight out then . . ."  
  
Author's Note: This way to the sequel -- http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=560849 


End file.
